


Sherlock as a Father

by EnduringChill



Series: Sherlock as a Flatmate [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Mild S&M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringChill/pseuds/EnduringChill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucy Adams moved into 221 Baker Street, Sherlock had no idea the ways his life would change. Now he stands on the edge of fatherhood. How will a baby impact his work? Can he trade criminals for nappies? Has Sherlock grown enough to make room in his life and mind palace for a little one? Or will he need to make another Fall?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to those who followed me though Sherlock as a Flatmate. This is the on-going saga of Lucy and Sherlock as they look to become parents.

Lucy

 

"Why can’t he be your doctor?" You frown.

 

 

"He’s a GP. I need an obstetrician to monitor the baby and me." I make a face as I sip my decaf tea. You made quick work of removing any vice from the house. You’ve replaced all our tea with decaf or herbal. The coffee is also decaf. 

"I’m sure John has delivered a baby in his professional life." You scoff.

"As an emergency only." I dump my tea.

"You didn’t like it?" Your pout.

"No, caffeine really makes the drink. I can have one cup, you know." I looked it up the moment I found out I tested positive.

You shake your head. “Not in the first trimester. Everything you do can effect the development of the baby. No, it’s only organic healthy foods for you.”

I roll my eyes so hard I give myself a headache. 

"Now, back to John." You dump your coffee.

That settles it. I’m off to Tesco to replace all this decaf rubbish.

"He’s still not an obstetrician."

You sigh heavily. “But I trust him!”

"I’m sure that John knows someone that he entrusts. We’ll talk to him," I say.

"Fine." You acquiesce sullenly. 

Your eyes skim the paper looking for a new, safe case. I pour myself a glass of milk. The creases around your eyes soften as you watch me. 

"How do you feel?" You ask. "Are you queasy?"

 

 

"Happily, no." 

We now have a calendar in almost every room to mark every single day of my pregnancy. You’ve downloaded some kind of app that actually counts down hours. It’s been only 48 hours since we came together in this, you’ve already left two copies of “What to Expect When Expecting” in the flat.

We came home from the party buzzing with energy after sharing the news with our friends. We were so wound up that I had forgotten about Victor. It wasn’t until we were home that I realised it. There was a stuffed bear on my chair with a note ‘congratulations, I love you both - Victor’. The room upstairs was empty - even at two in the morning. I know you quietly rejoiced. I will never tell you his offer as you might fly to New York to kill him yourself. 

The footsteps on the stairs are clearly Mrs. Hudson’s. She shuffles in with a basket filled with bottles and nappies all tied with a yellow bow. 

"It says it’s for you." Mrs. Hudson blinks in confusion. 

You look to me as you take the bundle. “I bet this is from Mycroft.”

Plucking the card, you glance it over. “I stand corrected. It’s from Uncle Mycroft.”

I hide my smile. 

"Sherlock?" Mrs.,Hudson’s eyes widen. "Is this a joke?"

I place the basket on the table. “No, Mrs. Hudson. This is definitely not a joke.” You press your palm to the small of my back.

"Lucy, are you expecting?" She shrieks.

 

 

"I am." I know I’m beaming. Funny, just days ago I was absolutely terrified. Who am I kidding? I still am, but I’m not alone.

She pulls me into a vice grip. “Oh Sherlock! I never thought I’d see the day! You, a father.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, that does seem to be the general sentiment. Me, a father.”

"He’ll be brilliant." I wink to you. That softens you a bit. 

Mrs. Hudson dabs her eyes with her fingers. “Oh, a baby. How wonderful! Does this mean you’re making Lucy an honest woman?”

You stiffen again. “We have not really discussed it, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you.”

"Oh," she looks sheepish. "You really should, darling."

"Do you have biscuits? Lucy here is eating for two. She’s famished." You stare out the window.

 

 

"Mrs. Hudson, we’ve no plans for that. It’s not important to us. We don’t follow conventional roads, Sherlock and me." I cross the room to you to wrap my arms around your waist. 

"I’m not here to judge. I’ll get those biscuits." She pauses to turn around in the doorway. "I am so happy for you both."

The tension slips from your muscles. “Thank you.” You look down at me when she’s gone. “Is it really unimportant?”

"We share DNA. I cannot think of a higher commitment." 

You lift my chin to kiss me. The kiss is too short and I wrap my hand around your neck to bring your lips to mine again. With the graze of teeth, things heat quickly. You pull away.

"We can’t." Your eyes drop to my still relatively flat belly.

"Yes, we can. I’m shocked you haven’t researched that yet." I slip the buttons of your shirt free. 

"I was too busy making a list of the foods you cannot eat." You gesture to a list on the desk.

"Mr. Holmes, what I want is not on the list." I rumble against your neck.

"Lucy," you moan. "The baby…."

"Will not be aware of what we are doing." I kiss down your exposed chest.

Your breath hitches when my fingers slip under the waist of your trousers.

"What are you doing?" Your voice drops with arousal.

"If I have to explain it to you after all this time, I’m not a very good teacher." I press my lips above your hipbone.

Your fingers course through my hair. “You’re an excellent teacher. But…”

 

 

I look up into your concerned eyes. “I won’t swallow.”

 

LUCY

The tapping of keyboards lulls me to sleep. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch you and John sit opposite from each other at the desk. I'm so tired lately. Instead of a jog in the afternoon, I long for a nap. You said it was perfectly normal in the first trimester.

"Have you been to the doctor?" John asks.

 

I pry my eyes open. "Just my GP to confirm what I already knew."

"Actually John," You thread your fingers and peer over your lap top. "We'd like you to deliver our baby."

"As flattered as I am, it's not my area." He shrugs. "I don't do prenatal care." He twists to look at me. "Speaking of which, I hope you are taking vitamins."

"Of course. Every night before bed." I murmur.

"They upset her stomach in the morning." You tap away. "We found out the hard way."

"I was hoping you might know someone." I stretch across the sofa. 

I could go to the bedroom for a more restful nap, but I like hearing you talk and bicker with John. I'm warm and enjoy slipping in and out of consciousness.

"I could make a list of friends that practice." John nods.

You force a huff of breath in annoyance. "You've delivered babies before."

 

"Yes, in emergencies. But not enough to call myself an OB. Lucy needs special care for her and the baby." John states. "I know of some excellent doctors."

I have a feeling that John might have been the third person that knew. My biggest fear was that you'd figure it out by the bloody calendar. In recent months, we'd been a bit careless about tracking. Or perhaps that was me. I put my trust in your anal retentive hands. My body decided to ovulate off schedule. Maybe it was biological clock forcing its hand. However, you found out before I had the chance to tell you. Looking back, it might have been best. I'm not sure how I would have reacted to the sheer panic in your eyes.

As it turns out, five people knew before we had the opportunity to come together as parents. Of course Mycroft knew. I wouldn't be surprised if he also tracked my periods. 

"I'd like it to be you." You gaze at John.

"If Lucy's water breaks at Baker Street, fine." He looks to me. "And that whole water breaking thing is rare. Sure, you hear it on the news, but it's less than half."

"Sherlock, leave him be. I'd rather John not have intimate knowledge of my bits." Did you think of that? "No offense."

He winks. "None taken. I mean, we're close but there is a limit."

You pout like a child. Soon I'll have two of you pouting at me. 'Why can't we keep pickled fingers next to the strong cheese?' 

"Just female doctors." You direct John.

John and I burst out in laughter. 

"Male OB's do not get off on that, Sherlock." His laughter wanes.

"Besides, hasn't most of London seen everything there is to see?" I shrug. That inspired another eye roll. "Aren't you supposed to go out on a case?"

"I'm trying to find something he'll take." John's eyes scan the computer screen. 

"They are all under a four. We've discussed this." You sigh heavily.

 

You're intently reading something and taking notes. It looks like you are checking off a list. "Are your breasts tender?"

John and I look to each other then to you.

"I hope that's not a question for me." He mutters.

"Don't be ridiculous." You snap. "So?"

Why are we having this discussion now?

"Um, a little." I discreetly fold my arms across my chest.

"Any cramping?"

"No. Are you preparing to be my doctor?"

You push back from your computer. "You do realise that 20-35% pregnancies end in miscarriage at your age."

 

"Sherlock!" John scolds. 

"You need to learn that not every thought the moment you have it needs to be shared." I flop back on the couch.

"We need to aware of the signs." And you begin to rattle them off.

John watches me sink deeper into the Chesterfield.

"Here's one!" John chimes. "Daughter thinks the mother is having an affair with her husband."

You tilt your head in annoyance. "You know how I feel about domestic issues. Boring and far too much crying."

"Okay." He returns to the screen, but you've stopped your monologue of doom. "Woman is being haunted by her dead dog's ghost."

"This is not Ghost Story." You sigh before turning to me. "Did you have any tuna fish before you discovered you were pregnant?"

"I never eat tuna." I frown.

"I didn't ask that." Your voice borders on a tone that will have you sleeping on the sofa.

"I do not like tuna. Therefore I would not eat it pregnant or not. I would not eat it in a house or with a mouse." I snap.

 

"How about with a fox on a box?" John quips. I suppress a giggle. John's grin quickly slips when faced with your glare. 

"Salmon is okay. Very good for brain development." You nod. "Salmon tonight for dinner then?"

"I don't like salmon." I close my eyes. Perhaps I will nap in the bedroom - Mrs. Hudson's.

"But it's good for you." You gesture to the screen.

"Sherlock, we are supposed to find a case. What site are you on?" John leans over.

"[Babycenter.com](http://Babycenter.com/)." You smile without reserve in my direction. "I've set up a profile for you, Lucy."

 

My annoyance dissolves as you grin proudly. You have an odd way of showing your domestic side. Your insistence that I eat salmon comes from the welfare of our baby,and I really cannot fault that. 

"Perhaps you should look up a good recipe for salmon instead." I close my eyes with a smile.


	2. Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, the dreams still haunt Lucy....

My eyes flutter open to the sound of whimpering. A baby? No, it's entirely too soon for that. You flinch beside me. I rub my eyes to clear the fog in my head. Your eyes roll around under close eyelids. I've noticed an increase of nightmares lately. I can tell this one is increasingly becoming more disturbing. 

"No." You moan along with indecipherable words. 

"Lucy." I place my hand at your back. You've drenched the old running vest you've taken to wearing to bed.

"Lucy." I card my fingers through sweat damped hair. "Wake up. It's not real."

I have read that dreams in the first trimester can be vivid and unsettling. It is also not lost on me what this week is to us - an anniversary of sorts. We have several. The day you moved in. Your first kidnapping. The day you killed Moriarty. Our first kiss. Our first coupling. I noticed an increase in restless nights around New Year's Eve. I thought it was the stress of the pregnancy. However, it's been discussed and is rather anticipated now. The twisting and mumbling suggest that you are reliving those days in your sleep.

"Lucy. Wake up." I speak sharper than I like but you are becoming distressed. I need you awake.

Your arms fly from your sides. "No!"

My hand brushes the hair from your forehead. "Shh. It's just us. No one is going to hurt you."

You blink rapidly as you take in the shadows in our room. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes, but I'm gal you did. You were quite upset." 

You rub your eyes. "I'm sorry. I know you were up all night last night."

"It is fine." I pull you closer to feel your heart race against me. "Can you remember it?"

You shake your head. "Not with any clarity."

"Was it him?"

"I don't know. Maybe." You roll on your back.

"It's part of pregnancy." I prop up one my elbow. "Usually about something unresolved."

"He's dead. That's fairly resolved." You chuckle coldly.

"You know I don't subscribe to this, but I'm not a normal person. Perhaps you should talk to someone about it." 

You look at me as if I've sprouted a third appendage. "Like a psychiatrist?" 

"Just a counselor. I've....killed before. I spent years underground taking apart a crime ring where I did things that would curdle your stomach." I know mentioning this as you are to have my child is not the best timing. Probably something that should have been discussed a year ago.

 

"I know you're not a saint." You smirk. 

"But you don't know the extent." I press.

"I don't think it's necessary. John and I have talked a little about your hiatus from London life." 

"He did?" I'll have to have a word with him. 

"It was when you were having trouble with a case and got incredibly broody." You run your fingers through my fringe.

"I do not brood." I counter.

"You most certainly do, Sherlock Holmes. No one broods quite as good as you." You laugh lightly. "Your photo is on the Wiki page for brood."

I shake my head as we've gotten well off subject. You are good at distraction - very good.

"In any case, you are not a cold blooded killer." 

"No, I'm not. I was very hot-blooded when I shot the bastard. I'd do it again to protect what I love." An angry bite slips into your voice.

"You might want to discuss it with someone." I suggest lightly. "It was traumatic for both of us. I've endured a lot of strife in my years. "I swallow hard. "No torture could compare to that day. His hands on you." I run my hand to your side. "The moment you fell."

You lace your finger with mine over your scar. "It's still very real for us both. But who knows if we'd end up here if we hadn't lived through that. It bonded us in a way. I probably loved you before, but after that day there was no way Greg could come between us."

I lean down to capture your lips in a savage kiss. It's still raw one year later. All the good and bad things that lead us to sharing a bed. 

 

"I will consider seeing a professional." You sigh. "John and I talk about it, but maybe I need an outsider."

I frown as a tight feeling clenches my stomach. "John? Why him?"

"Because we both killed for you." You smile.

Of course. The two most important people in my world bonded over their love for me. I settle in beside you with my nose pressed to your temple. We lie caressing arms and giving tender squeezes.

"Lucy?" 

"Hmm?" Sleep is coming back for you.

"Are you going to tell her?" I ask.

"Her?" You open one eye.

"Your mother. Are you going to tell her?" 

With a sigh you roll to your side to face me. "I guess I have to. I'm not sure I want to hear her opinions." 

"It's a grandchild. Look at Mycroft. Who would ever imagine him signing a baby card 'Uncle Mycroft'?" I quirk an eyebrow. "He's the coldest person I know."

"He loves you. Just doesn't know how to express it." You hand curls around mine.

"It's not something that was around us growing up. They were both very busy." 

"You've met my mother." You say flatly.

"But you aren't like that." 

"My father. He held the heart in that relationship." Even in the dark, I see the sadness on your face.

"Charlie..." 

"I've never told you his name." You prop up on your elbow.

"Remember, the password on your laptop is not hard to sort out. You never changed it from sherlocksux." I kiss your arm.

"It was an abbreviation from sherlockisapretentipousasshole." You tease.

"You should change it something about my flawless love-making or how amazing my cock is." I grin wickedly.

You snort in laughter. "I can see Mrs. Hudson seeing that when she goes online."

Once again, you settle beside me. My hand rests on your belly as it is often wont to do lately.

"I know I have to tell her at some point. I'm not ready to share it with her." You sigh.

"You don't have to, then." I kiss the top of your head. 


	3. Paging Dr. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Lucy struggle to find the right doctor.

Lucy

 

I knew looking for a doctor would be a painful process. Methodically, we went down the list John gave us. You insist on seeing the female doctors first. 

 

She enters the small examination room looking more like an exotic dancer than someone with a real PhD. Her skirt is mid thigh and the neckline of her blouse plunges low enough to see a lace bra. You notice enough to frown. 

She brushes by you without giving me, the patient, a second glance. "Mr. Holmes, I heard you were coming in. I'm flattered. John speaks highly of you."

 

Her voice is an unprofessional purr. If she could, she'd shove me off the table and fuck you right now.

"Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Proger." You emphasize 'us'. "My partner Lucy." You nod in my direction.

"Yes." She says snidely. Still, I barely get a glimpse. "Partner like John?"

"Well, no. I didn't get John pregnant." You are not impressed. 

"We all thought you made a lovely couple." She smiles over her shoulder before turning a hard glance over me.

 

I'm used to this. Men and women are drawn to you. The eyes, curls, cheekbones and baritone all get everyone's attention. Their eyes feast of you, then look beside you. A rather plain woman who battles the fleshy parts of herself. I'm not ugly, I know that. But I don't belong next to you - not by most peoples standards. It bothers you more than it does me. I know you see something in me that I don't even see. I just hope that never fades. The world is filled with Dr. Progers waiting to pounce.

She takes my blood pressure while eyes skim over to you. Her touch is a bit rough. She doesn't talk to me, but asks you about your cases. She wants to know about the Moriarty case. I know she's seen the video and is envisioning playing my role.

"Let me get the ultrasound and we'll take a look." She coos to you.

When she's gone I hop off the table. "Sod this."

"What?" You ask.

"Are you serious? She's hoping to get you in these stirrups. She has barely glanced at me. I will not spend the next eight months with her drooling over you." I'm pulling my clothes on hastily.

"You know I don't respond to that kind of attention." 

"No. Tell John his friend Proger is in heat." I snap.

She returns to see you fastening my bra. "We weren't done."

"Oh, I think we are." I snatch my blouse from the chair.

"I know john told you I come highly recommended." She crosses her arms but eyes still flirt with you.

You cock your head. "Wait. I remember you now. You've a different nose and chin."

"What?" She gasps.

 

"You dated John roughly five years ago. Oh, you were a screamer." You chuckle.

She frowns. "What are you talking about Mr. Holmes?"

Hmm, she's upset. Ten minutes ago, you were Sherlock.

"Your nose and chin were very different. Much larger before." You tilt your head to look closer.

Dr. Proger will not deliver our baby even if we chain ourselves to her - her words.

*   *   *   *   *  *

You are late - that is if you haven't forgotten. I have no problem doing this on my own, but you insist. I send a text, but nothing.

I admit that Dr. Thomas is very handsome and I have reservations about him seeing my bits.

He sits across from me on his tablet asking all about my medical history with a smile that makes my stomach flutter a bit. 

 

"And your husband?" He asks.

"There's no husband." I shake my head. I'm about to explain there's a partner since you are adverse to boyfriend when his smile grows wider and a bit predatory.

"No husband? That's a shame." He sets the tablet down. "Let's take a look shall we? Can you undress for me and put on this gown?"

This one is real cotton and not scratchy polyester or worse - paper. 

"These are nice." I run my hand over the soft fabric.

"You are our concern in this practice. We aim for your comfort throughout these wonderful nine months." His voice hums. It's oddly intoxicating.

"That's great. Let me change then." I wait for him to leave but he doesn't.

We stare each other down for a moment. 

"If you are uncomfortable, I'll leave. However, the woman's body is a miracle." He says.

"I guess you are right. After all, you'll be delivering my baby." I shrug.

I do feel his eyes on me as I keep my back to him while I undress. It's hard not to feel under the microscope. Is he another one that recognizes me? Did he put put it all together? Several months since I graced the covers of newspapers but it doesn't completely go away, the looks, the whispers.

He stands close as he listens to my lungs and heart. Where Dr. Proger had been dismissive of me, dr. Thomas is focused as a snipers laser. His eyes pierce and tone playful yet soothing. 

 

"Oh, excuse me." You burst into the room while my legs are suspended in the stirrups and dr. Thomas is between my legs.

"Thought you forgot."

"No. Time got away from me." You are definitely uncomfortable with the scene in front of you.

"You must be the partner." Dr. Thomas says without looking away from my cervix. "You have a lovely vagina." He peers up at me.

 

Your hand curls into a fist. "Yes, I'm the father."

Your eyes narrow as they scan him head to toe. They slide from clothes to hair and back to face.

"You are a lucky man." He smiles. "Do you live together?"

Dr. Thomas' tone is conversational, but I see the confrontation brewing in your eyes. 

"None of your business."

He removes his fingers from me and strips off his gloves. "Actually, it is. I need to know that she's been cared for in her delicate state."

"Delicate state?" I snort. "What century are we in?"

"I'm just here for you." His hand rests on my knee. 

"You sick bastard!" You growl and bedlam follows.

I struggle to free myself from the stirrups while you have knocked him to the ground. He is trying to fend you off while I pull the gown around me and attempt interference.

"Sherlock! He was fine. Nothing was inappropriate!" That's not entirely true. Stripping in front of him was borderline. And perhaps complementing my birth canal was uncalled for.

You turn to me. "Not this visit, but in the next few visits, it would have been highly unprofessional." You pull him up by the collar and shove him against the wall. Charts clatter to the floor. "How many unwed pregnant women have you had sexual relations with in this room, doctor?"

You tone is menacing.

"I have no idea what you're getting at." He sputters.

He won't look at you or me.

"How many doctor?" You press his neck harder. You look over your shoulder to a very stunned me. "The good doctor specializes is caring for single mothers. Provides them with the attention they aren't receiving from the father. He preys upon them and has sex with them because that's his kink."

My hand flies over my mouth and I feel sick. I thought the exam was a bit thorough.

"Look at his pupils and erection in his trousers. He was enjoying your examination a bit too much." You slam his head against the wall.

"They had no one. They were left alone, and needed me." He protests. 

"No, you manipulated them. What do you do after you deliver the baby, doctor?" You hiss through gritted teeth.

"You have no proof." He huffs.

"Something tell me the receptionist with a swollen belly and no wedding ring might have something to say."

Fear hits Dr. Thomas' eyes.

"And for the record, she is not alone." One more slam against the wall. "She has me."

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Dr. Wright could be my father with kind eyes and an old world calmness about him. His office is covered with photos of families he has helped bring into the world. He is in fact, Mary's doctor. I look to you for any deduction that may spoil this meeting. You nod slightly to indicate that Dr. Wright is relatively clean. Despite his age, he seems current. He doesn't raise an eyebrow when he learns that we are not married. 

 

After an initial first meeting, he is squirting a clear but cold gel on my belly.

"Let's see what we have." His eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He presses on my abdomen and just above the pubic bone. I wince at the pressure. Your hand grabs mine. I nod that I'm fine. 

"Ahhh." He says and directs our attention to the monitor. "See all this dark matter? This is the womb and amniotic fluid." He points to an overgrown peanut. "That is your baby."

A tsunami of emotions knock me off my feet and pull me under. My grip on your hand tightens. It's real. It's not a blue line or smiley face. It's a beautiful peanut.

"See the flutter? That's the heart. Looks strong - around 160 bpm." 

I'm afraid to look at you. You'll see that my eyes are shiny and roll your eyes. Or you'll scrutinizing the size of the peanut. However, I have to steal a glance. I'm not prepared to see you with your mouth hanging open and eyes filled with wonder. Your other hand covers our joined fingers. We don't need to say anything. Your eyes say everything I need to hear.

 

"Can we have a photo?" Your voice is higher than usual.

"Of course." Dr. Wright smiles.

*   *   *  *   *   *

On the way home, one hand holds my hand and the other the scan of the baby.

"You never told me how you figured all that out about Dr. Thomas." I say.

"What did you see in Dr. Wrights office?" 

I think back. "Photos of babies?"

"Precisely. Same with the other doctors. Except Thomas had photos of just the mothers. No babies. Every single photo was a woman without a partner they relied on. The photos were like trophies. He never posted photos of the babies because of the guilt."

"We should send a copy to Mycroft." I give your hand a squeeze.

You smile and wink. "I'm sure he already has one."


	4. Couvade syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on and Sherlock is cranky.

Sherlock

I roll my eyes. “Can someone get the mother out of the house?”

Lestrade nods to Donovan who removes the weeping woman.

"You could be a little gentle. It’s her infant son. You know, baby." John scolds.

 

 

"Yes, I know what an infant is." I snap trying to scan the room for something useful.

"Fatherhood hasn’t softened you at all." John tuts.

"I’m not a father yet." I shoot him a glare in hopes that he does effectively shut up.

"I hope you don’t say that to Lucy." He mutters.

"So, the rumours are true." Lestrade shoves his hands deep in his pocket.

 

 

"That I’ve procreated? Yes, they are true." I try to gauge his face. Surprise. Mild disappointment. Not as much as I expected. Do I detect smugness?

"How is Lucy?" He asks.

"She’s fine. The baby is fine." I hold my hand up for quiet as I drop to the floor. I reach for my magnifying glass.

"She’s had a bit of morning sickness but nothing like Duchess Kate." John says.

"Is she showing?" Lestrade asks.

"No, it’s still a bit early. She’s only about thirteen weeks on."

"Are you ladies done chatting?" I ask icily. "Maybe you would like to find  **this** baby.”

 

 

"Yes, of course." Lestrade sniffs.

"I first suspected the father and I haven’t ruled him out just yet." With a knife I scrape some sediment from the floor by the bassinet. I hand the tube to Lestrade. "Take this to your girlfriend for initial analysis. I’ll be sending along more."

Lestrade clears his throat as a light blush hits his cheeks. Ah, morning intercourse. I miss that. You’ve been so knackered that it’s been a chore for evening intercourse. Lately, I have to capture you mid afternoon.

With a nod, Lestrade collects all the specimens from the house to bring to the lab. The mother is not much help. I can barely make out a full sentence from the blubbering. I push a feeling of dread that wants to bubble up inside me. I recognise it as sympathy. It’s hard not to see your face when I look at the distraught mother with her head buried in her hands.

I cough and turn away. Deduce, do not sentimentalize this. It’s a case and nothing more. Do not think of the young boy or his mother. Solve the puzzle.

"John, let’s go." I bury my hands inside my coat and stride towards the door.

"Are you all right?" He catches up to me at the street.

"Fine. It’s the first interesting case since the American Bowler." I sniff the icy air.

"We headed to St. Bart’s?" He asks.

"Of course. I can’t let Molly tamper with evidence." I attempt a smirk but my heart is not into it.

I resist the urge to call or text you. You are at work, even though I did tell you that you didn’t need to anymore. The restraints on my trust fund have loosened upon the arrival of the baby. There’s no need for your salary. You insist that it keeps you sane.

"How is Mary?" Instead I make polite conversation. "With child yet?"

John’s head whips in my direction. “Unlike the virile Sherlock Holmes, some of us have to work at it.”

"I take that as a negative." And that ends polite conversation.

 

 

He stares out the window while his hand twitches. I feel remorse fleetingly. Pity for John’s situation will not return Baby McBride.

Molly starts as we burst through the laboratory doors. I see she is already working on the samples I’ve sent over. London taxis never move fast enough. Since that day over a year ago, I still do not trust them. It took me months to feel comfortable being in one with you. If you only knew I carry a gun when we take one.

"What do we have?" I shed my coat and toss it to john who catches it with a ‘harrumph’.

She glances to a seething John. “Nothing yet. I just started.”

 

 

"Excellent. Allow me." I crowd her away from the slides.

"How are you John?" She asks.

"Unnecessary." He snips.

"Nonsense. I think Molly and I could do with some coffee." I peer over a Petri dish.

"You insufferable twat." He mumbles. He doesn’t even tried to hide his words. Yet he takes off for the galley to get coffee.

"You’re in rare form." Molly notes.

"There is an infant in danger. How should I be?" I cock my head with annoyance.

"Like Sherlock." She shrugs and passes me the next slide.

We work in perfect synchronization. Since she started seeing Lestrade, her awkwardness around me has faded. It’s unfortunate that I cannot use her affection to my advantage, but this makes for a better working environment.

"I heard that congratulations are in order." She glances up as she places a few drops of saline onto a slide.

"I haven’t sorted it out. I think we can rule out the father, but I think it’s someone close. He has a mistress and I can guarantee you that she has an issue with Baby McBride. What I need to sort is she merely covets or wants revenge." She stares at me in bewilderment. "Oh, you mean something else?"

"You and Lucy. The baby." She blinks.

"Oh yes. Dear God, does everyone know? Did Lucy send out a notice?" I’m amazed over how many people care. I place a mental note to discuss your mother again. At this rate, she’ll be learning about this in the news as well.

"Greg told me." She smiles. She’s not the least bit jealous or upset. "I thinks it’s wonderful."

"You do? You don’t see me as terrible father material?"

She lets out a laugh. “Oh, I can’t see you as a dad, but I think it would be good for you.”

I straighten my back. “Why do people say that? ‘It will be good for you’ like fatherhood is vegetables, or exercise or a vacation . Fatherhood, you should try it on.”

Her eyes widen. “I thought the same thing about Lucy. She is good for you. She makes you….different.”

 

 

I narrow my eyes to slits. I realise you’ve changed me in ways I cannot quantify. The fact you’ve this power scares me. I never thought I lacked something before you came along. Not until I had it, at least. There are times I still feel winded by a single glance from you. It’s terrifying. Now we have this force inside you that I know only makes me mortal. And this is better?

"I know." I look down at the slide. For all that fear, it comes with a happiness I never knew I was missing. "Thank you."

She smiles. “Greg is moving in with me. My place is larger and we can get a dog or cat.”

I look up to see hope in her eyes. For the first time, I really see Molly Hooper. Not the means to the end or doe-like eyes peering up at me expectantly. I see a smart woman who is happy in her life with a man I consider my friend - even if he has intimate knowledge of your body.

I set the slide down to really give her my full attention for the second time in our acquaintance.

"I’m very happy for you." I nod.

"I’m happy for me too." She beams. "And you. I think you have the capacity to be a wonderful father. You love her very much."

There is nothing to say to her declaration. It’s true. We don’t spout poetry or require constant affirmation of our deep emotions. It would appear that when it comes to you, my feelings are broadcast in every look and movement around you.

 

 

I nod tightly as my emotions rush to the surface. I purse my lips together and concentrate on the dilemma in font of me.Molly returns to work as well. She’s pleased that she has said her piece.

John sweeps in with three coffees, annoyance rolling off of him.

"Molly." He gives her a tight smile. "My queen." He sets my coffee down hard enough for some to slosh over the side.

"This is a sanitary workspace." I sigh.

John stalks away to sulk near Molly.

"It’s like he’s pregnant by proxy." She mutters.

"Hmm?" He asks.

"Mood swings? That’s part of pregnancy, especially the first few months." Molly explains.

"That must be a pleasant household." He cracks a smile.

"Do you and Mary have a spare room? Lucy might need it." Molly teases.

"Are you both done? Ready to achieve something?" My head shoots up to pin them both with one look.

Finally blessed silence. Without the din, my mind clears and I can access what I need - perfumes, fibers, dirt, chemical compositions. They all form an orchestra in my head as they collide and dance to a solution.

I push back from the microscope as my eyes pop open.

"Oh absolutely brilliant!"

John and Molly look up.

"What is it?" John inches closer.

"Easter, not quite Christmas." My finger taps away a message to Lestrade - then Mycroft.

Mistress has infant. Could be in danger. SH

"Do you have it?" John presses.

I can’t contain my grin. “The mistress thought she was clever having a distant cousin get rid of the child. Quinn McBride would not leave his son. Enter Janice the mistress. John, let’s go!”

Address? Mycroft

I’ll text from the taxi - SH

My knee jumps as my heart races against the clock.

Why do you need me for a kidnapping? Mycroft

An infant is in danger, uncle - SH

Yours? Mycroft.

Does it matter? SH

Very well. You have my assistance. Mycroft


	5. Jeepers Creepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes undercover while John and Lucy have a heart to heart

Lucy

 

  
I walk in to find John in my chair with his laptop and you at the desk. 

 

 

"What about the brother in Cardiff?" He asks.

You shake your head. “She won’t go that far. She thinks he’ll stand by her.”

"After almost killing his son?" John looks up. "Oh, hello Lucy." 

"John." I remove my coat. Not even acknowledgment from your corner of the room. "How are you?" 

"I’m wonderful. Let me move." He goes to stand.

I hold up my hand. “No need. I like his chair better lately.” 

He kisses my cheek. “You look amazing.”

"Thank you. It’s nice to have someone notice." No sound from you. Your eyes flicker across the computer screen as fast your your fingers scroll the page. I owner what happens when it is a crying child. "Is this still the McBride case?"

John nods. “Yes, the mistress gave us the slip the other day.”

"But the baby is okay?" The news had been covered with reports of the abduction and recovery of this infant not more than a few weeks old. 

You and John have been at the center of the coverage as you saved the baby from certain death. The cousin was meant to toss the baby in the river. If you hadn’t interceded, it would have happened. That night, you came home and collapsed into bed. It was strange really. I thought you’d reach for me and hold me tight. Your back was to me on the opposite side of the bed until you woke me before dawn. You were moaning and shaking. Carefully, I woke you. Your eyes shone with tears as you held me in a death grip until I had to leave for work. You wouldn’t talk about your dream. I wasn’t sure if it was the case or past events. You lived enough to have a full catalogue of PTSD topics.  

"Baby is fine." John looks over at you in disbelief. I see him take a breath to say something to get your attention. 

I press my finger to my lips. “I like to see how long it takes. It’s a sick little game I play with myself.”

He shakes his head. I know he’d never do this to Mary. “That’s ridiculous, you know.”

I shrug. “I’m used to it by now. I know what I signed up for.”

"Well…" He starts.

"I know. Technically, I did not." I settle back feeling fatigue wash over me. I can barely make ten minutes without yawning these days. Dr. Wright, the internet and all the books you bought me have said this will pass around week twelve to sixteen. Once I’m in my second trimester, I’ll feel more like myself save for the round belly. 

"How is Mary?" I ask. 

John closes his laptop. “She’s good. Chomping at the bit to get you registered.”

I touch my belly. “We have time.”

"Has she had her tubes flushed?" You ask eyes still to the screen.

 

 

"What?" John frowns.

"Fallopian tubes. I know you think the issue is your sperm count, but I’ve seen the report. Your levels are fine for a man your age." 

John’s eyes snap to mine. “Sherlock.” 

"There is great success in the flushing procedure. It increases fertility by 30 percent. There could be a small blockage." 

"Sherlock!" I bark as John’s face turns a deep shade of red.

You look up. “Hello Lucy.” You purse your lips. “How long?”

"At least five minutes." I answer. "But only because I called your name."

"Right, right. Sorry." You mumble. "Back on topic, John…"

"I know, I’m a doctor for fuck’s sake." He snaps.

"Yes, but not obstetrician as you pointed out. Otherwise, Lucy would be in your capable care."

I touch John’s knee. “Are you okay? I knew. Mary told me.”

He shakes his head. “Of course. I’m sure you girls share everything.”

It’s my turn to blush a little. I do know a little bit about the sex life of John Watson. Girls do talk after all. 

"Despite this git," I gesture over my shoulder. "It’s fine. It will be fine."

He nods. “I know.”

"If you want to talk when he’s not around, I’m here." I offer my most comforting smile.

Your phone chimes behind us. I turn my head. “Is that Wagner?”

"No, Lestrade." You take off into the foyer.

"I wonder what my ringtone is." I muse.

"Mine was a monkey grinder until I tossed his phone into the river." John smirks.

I laugh. “He said he busted it during a chase.” 

"He would." John chuckles.

You sweep back through the door and into the bedroom without a glance to John and me.

"What did he want?" John calls after you.

"Not what he wants, what he needs." Quickly you’ve changed into an older pair of trousers and a fresh dress shirt. You pause in front of John. "Off now."

He starts to stand and you roll your eyes.

"No, your jumper. Take it off." You wiggle your fingers.

 

 

"Why?" he asks but does it.

"I need it." You hold out your hand. 

"Are you going to perform an experiment on it?" He pauses.

"No, I need to borrow it. I’ll return it in the same ugly state it’s currently in." You tap your foot impatiently. "Come on. Time is wasting." 

John gives his jumper. We both grin as you stretch it over your head. It’s a bit short and yet hangs off your frame. In the mirror over the fire, you adjust your collar and hair. I feel a twinge when you ruffle your curls back into place. 

"I will return." You place your hand on my belly and kiss my lips softly. "Don’t wait up."

"Hold it, mister. Where are you off to?" I grab your hand.

"The case. Lestrade has given me a large piece of the puzzle." You tug at your arm. "Look, I’ll explain it when I get home."

John stands. “Let me call Mary…”

You whirl around. “No, you are not coming. I need to do this one alone.”

John and I exchange a glance. “We’ve talked about that.”

You sigh. “It’s not dangerous.” Another heavy sigh. “Fine, I’ll take a gun.” 

"I’d rather you take John."

Your hand runs over my head affectionately. “I need to go on my own. Trust me.” I wear my worry openly. “John, you stay here. I will call if I need you. Okay?”

"I don’t like it, Holmes." I shake my head.

"I’ll be fine. Sooner I go and the sooner I’ll return. Promise." You press another kiss to my lips.

You swing out the door without another word.

"You don’t like it anymore than I do." I look to John.

"I could follow him, but it’ll piss him off and he’ll lose focus." John shrugs. I know he’s right. If John thought you were really in danger, he’d be with you.

"I just hope he knows that it’s imperative he’s careful." I stare at the door. 

John nods. “He knows.”

"I guess we wait for him to come home. Dinner?" 

"Chinese takeaway?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. “Sherlock only allows it from ‘his’ place as the one around the corner uses MSG and that can be harmful to the fetus as he says.”

John snorts. “Is he overbearing?”

I point to your laptop. “There is a blog dedicated to my daily food and water intake. He surpassed overbearing weeks ago.”

"I should have known he’d be obsessive about it." John stands. "Then, Thai?"

"You know what, I’ve been dying for Chinese. Bollocks to him. If he can run off doing God nows what, I can eat Chinese." I stalk to the cabinet where we keep the menus. 

"Shall I get wine too?" he smiles.

"Let’s not get crazy." I call over my shoulder. "I still have a few beers in the fridge from before I knew I was pregnant."

"Cheers." John moves to the kitchen while I fiddle with menus. "Lucy, this is amazing."

"It’s just Boddingtons." I shrug. 

"No, the fridge. There’s no weird experiments or body parts. Just food. Like fresh food." He gasps. 

 

 

"The experiments have been contained to Mrs. Hudson’s basement flat. She doesn’t have a tenant so we give her a little money and he has a place for his things. You should see the upstairs bedroom. He’s starting sneaking in items and putting them up there." I pickup my phone. "The usual?"

"Yeah sure." His face is priceless. If the domestic bliss of Baker Street confounded him before, it has blown his mind tonight.

While I order food, John calls Mary to let her know the situation.  I won’t keep him here all night. It’s unfair for him to wait while you run off the like big hero. I hate that I have no idea what you went off to do. I know it has something to do with the domestic kidnapping case. You saved that little boy from certain death. That night you came home sweaty and dirty. You tumbled beside me in bed and held me. You blamed being in the damp for hours looking for Baby McBride. I knew better. Your cases are affecting you lately. 

"Will you find out the sex?" John asks as we tuck into our shared General Gao’s chicken and crab Rangoons. 

"Sherlock wants to. Says it makes the most sense so we can prepare the nursery with gender specific items. I want to be surprised." 

"Hmm. It will be difficult to prevent him from finding out. If he wants to know, he’ll just hack the doctor’s files." 

"I know. I’ve recruited Mycroft to help me with that. I know Sherlock can break into anything if he wants to know something. I hope that we can appeal to his love of deduction. Sort of like that Study in Pink case you did, but with better results." I smile.

"He told you about that?" John looks up.

"No, I read your blog. I read it before I moved in. Remember, he told me of his blog and you said yours was better. You were right, by the way." 

He laughs. “You read it before moving and you still did it. Amazing.” He leans forward. “I knew the moment I first set eyes on you.”

I frown. “Knew what?”

"That you were the one. Do you know how many people saw this flat? Granted most said ‘no fucking way’. Not you." He looks pleased with himself.

I lay my fork on the plate. “What was it about me?”

I often wondered about the others that were turned down. 

"Well, you didn’t run screaming, and you didn’t cry." His eyes soften and genuine grin overtakes his face. "You were amused. But you didn’t try to take him on. I just knew you could handle him but also run him a bit." He gazes at me with almost misty eyes. "I had no idea it would turn out like this."

"You’re telling me." I glance down. "This was the last thing I thought when I moved in."

"Come on. Weren’t you a little attracted to him? He’s striking looking." John teases.

I raise an eyebrow. “John?”

He nudges my foot. “Shut it. You know he has an air about him.”

"I thought his hair was a bit girly. I took him for gay for months." I feel myself smile a little. "But then I’d notice his eyes linger longer than normal. Or a moment where his voice would be tender."

"I think he fancied you from the first moment." John nods.

I let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I really doubt that. Or if it is true, he was very good at tucking it away.”

"He is the master of disguise." John smiles.

 

* * * * * 

Once we get the text that an arrest has been made and you are on your way home, I send John off. It’s now past eleven and he has his day job tomorrow. I clean and putter. Some nights I have no problem going to bed before you come home. Usually John is with you, so I feel more at ease. 

I hear the front door slam shut and then footsteps bounding up the stairs. You are pleased with tonight - I can tell by your gait. I continue reading one of the baby manuals you have given me. 

"You’re still awake." You sound surprised. "I told you that you didn’t have to wait up."

"I know. It’s not that late." I don’t look up from reading about week sixteen.

"You need your rest." You scold. I hear you hang your coat. 

"I’m not made of fine china. You know that." I sigh.

"I am aware, but you carry something far more precious that china." You touch my shoulder. 

I glance up to a ridiculous sight. You still wear John’s blue jumper, but paired it with a tweed blazer. You peer at me through wire framed spectacle. I’m actually a little speechless.

 

 

You ease into your chair. With a sniff, you cock your head to the side. “Lucy, we have discussed this.”

I knew it wouldn’t matter how much I cleaned, you’d know.

"I asked for no MSG." 

"Would you know?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Probably not." I cannot help but stare at you in those frames. They makes you look younger. I picture you at university hovered over a stack of books. Maybe chewing on the end of pen. "What’s with the spectacles?"

"For the case. I went undercover as a professor. I forgot I still had them on." 

 

 

"I like them." I move to kneel in front of you.

You smile. “I gather that you do.” 

My hands run along your strong thighs. “Leave them on.” 

You lean forward to press your lips to mine. “Is this a kink, Lucy?”

I crawl up to straddle your lap. “Is that a problem?” 

"No, not at all. But it’s night. You haven’t been very interested." You kiss the side of my neck.

I take your hand and guide it between my legs to demonstrate my interest. “Ever since I saw you in those frames, I have no idea why, but I just want to rip off the ridiculous jumper.”

"Aren’t you tired?" You murmur against my neck.

"Funny thing happens in your second trimester, you regain some energy. And in some women, the hormones make them randier than usual." I move against your hand. 

A sigh escapes those lips as they grin. “Oh, I am a big fan of this.”

"Come on, out of these clothes." I tug at the jumper.

"But the spectacles stay on?" You tease my mouth.

"Call it a sexual preference." I nip at your bottom lip.

 

 

You rip the jumper off and toss across the room. I work on the buttons on your shirt. You hand runs over my breast.

"Hmm. So full." Your mouth closes over one through my shirt. 

Since becoming pregnant, everything is more sensitive to touch. My back arches against you. I cannot take my eyes off you in those bloody frames. Dirty, salacious images flash before my eyes. 

"Get the crop." My voice is rough

It’s been months since I’ve wanted you this much. Between exhaustion, nausea and new sensations of pregnancy, I’ve felt very blah. My hair is limp. My breasts were sore. But tonight, I feel like the old Lucy. 

You swallow. “Are you certain?” 

"Do I have to repeat myself, Sherlock?" I raise an eyebrow.

Without a word, you rush to the bedroom. “Out here?” 

"Yes." I lick my lips.

You seem unsure. “You wouldn’t prefer the bedroom.” You twirl the crop in your fingers.

I shrug. “I can go to the bathroom with a toy if you prefer.”

You rush to my side. “It’s just…”

I put my finger against your lips. “I don’t want you to see me as a pregnant woman. I want you to think I’m sexy and desirable. Very soon, I’ll look a lot different and it will be difficult for me to feel the way I feel in bed with you. Your words of encouragement won’t help because I’ll know I’m round.”

Your fingers tangle in my hair as you claim my lips in a fierce kiss. “You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

"But will you want to fuck me?"

"Oh, Jesus yes." You pull me against you roughly, all tongue and hands. 

After assaulting each other’s lips, I push you away. “Those glasses, bloody hell.”

"I’m wearing them every day." You growl.

"Sherlock, it’s time. I want your hands on the arms of your chair." I bite your earlobe.

You sigh shakily. “Do you want me on my knees?”

"Not yet." I kiss you gently. "Let’s begin."

It’s been been awhile since we’ve done this. When Victor came to stay, I felt strange about him hearing the sounds nights like these produce. Then came the night you told me the story of you and Victor. I felt possessive of you, knowing he had come to our house in hopes of whisking you away. It didn’t matter than he was falling for me as well. I wanted him to know that you were mine and I was yours. I hoped he heard every yelp, moan and shout of my name. I know he stared at your back the following day as you moved stiffly around the flat. I cocked an eyebrow as if to say ‘yes Victor, I did that’. In the end, it probably just gave him wank material.

But in those frames, I want to hear those sounds. I know you’ve missed it. 

You lean your forearms on the arms of you chair. Already, your chest heaves in expectation. I start with your clothed arse. I can be a little hard-handed without breaking skin. You count along with the strikes. I never asked you to, but you enjoy it. By the time we get to ten, you are panting. Sweat pools on my lower back. It takes everything to not force you to the floor and have you then. We both require patience, and the reward is always amazing. 

I raise a few welts on your back. You beg me for them. You want to feel me tomorrow when you put on a clean cool shirt, or when you lean back in a chair. Only one strike will require a bit of aftercare. 

"Milk?" I whisper in you ear.

You shudder. “Perhaps fat free. Don’t stop, please.”

I reach around to unfasten your trousers from behind. You hiss as your lean back against me. 

"I want you to touch me." Your voice is wrecked and cracked.

"Not yet. We’re not finished."

"Oh, fuck Lucy." You moan.

I give your arse an open handed slap that stings us both. “Language, Sherlock.”

"Yes, Lucy." You grit out. 

I pull your pants and trousers to your ankles. I desperately want to touch you too. But it’s not time.

"Arms back on the chair. Stand standing." I run my fingers down your spine.

"Yes, darling." Your voice drops to dangerous levels. You know that I love your pet name for me - even more in this context. When we do finally join, I won’t last long. 

I run the soft tip of the crop down your spine as you lean over. I tap your legs further apart. 

"Are you ready?"I ask.

"Oh God yes." You whisper harshly.

And so I begin. Just light taps to the areas I’ve struck. Firmer taps to your bare arse. Your breath is ragged and you are fully erect. My strikes get harder. You flinch at whoosh of crop, but relax into the blow. 

"I-I can’t be silent." You pant.

"I love to hear those silky tones from those sinful lips." I brush the soft tip along your thighs.

"What I could do with these lips." You hum. 

"Getting ahead of ourselves, Holmes." My next hit startles you. 

"Jesus, Lucy." You gasp. 

I alter between the strikes and kissing the raised skin. You push back against my mouth enjoying the soothing brush of my lips on your tender skin. Your legs shake, unable to hold you up for much longer.

"You can drop to your knees," I say when your bottom is sufficiently red. 

"Thank you." You collapse with your head down. The curls at the base of your neck cling to damp skin. 

I kiss your shoulder and back, letting my tongue feel the ridges I’ve raised. 

"Can I touch you?" You lean your head back against my shoulder. 

"Very soon." I whisper. "Take a seat in the chair." You tense. "Yes, it will be sore. Is that okay?"

My fingers stroke your chest, pinching your nipples. 

"Yes, yes.  As long as I can kiss you, I really need to do that now." You moan.

"Up you go, love." I move away. 

You hiss at the loss of contact. Gingerly, you sit on the chair. Your face contorts in pain. 

"Can we continue? Was it too much?" I lift your chin to look at me. Those eyes nearly melt my clothes off.

"Come here." You reach for me. 

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I feel you." You whisper. "It’s amazing."

I stand between your knees. “Then we continue.” I run my fingers through your hair and you lean into the touch. “Undress me, Holmes.”

Your eyes light up. It’s not a difficult task. I’m only wearing a think t-shirt, pajama bottoms and knickers. Even still, you enjoy unwrapping me slowly. I permit your lips to brush against my newly exposed skin. Finally, I am in only my knickers. A smile curls on your lips.

"Look at your little belly." Your voice hits an unusually high pitch. 

My hands fly in front my small protrusion. “That is not very sexy. Not helping with what I’m doing here.”

You kiss below my navel. “I find it very sexy.”

I huff. “Hardly.”

Your hand slides up the inside of my thigh. “Then let me show you.”

You touch me and I jump. That entire area is more sensitive than usual. 

"It’s the extra blood coursing through your body. Everything is sensitive. Your smell, your taste." You slip your fingers in your mouth. "Everything."

"My sense of taste?" I ask. I kneel in front of you. "Let’s see."

Without warning, I take you in my mouth. It’s true, you seem muskier, saltier. I look up to see your head thrown back with your mouth slack. I wish I could keep a photo of you like this - the professor utterly debauched. Red blotches creep up from your chest and neck to your cheeks. You are so close, but that’s not how I want the night to end. I pull off to straddle you in your chair. My weight causes you to sink against the leather more - aggravating already angry skin. 

I hover just above you as I crush my mouth against yours. It’s all disorganised tongues and gnashing teeth. You try to pull me onto you. We both want it so badly but I don’t want this to end. I pull away to watch your eyes widen and roll back as I surround you. 

"Still my favourite moment." I murmur. 

You push up and I swear I feel every vein and ridge. I roll my hips and you gasp - in pleasure and pain. 

"Lucy." You growl. Any control you had earlier slips away, you clutch to me and thrust up into me in an attempt to get as deep as possible.

Some day soon, I will be too large to ride you like this. We won’t fit in this chair. You will be afraid of hurting me or the baby. My waist will disappear most likely with my hips. 

However tonight, it feels like every cell is electrified. We move in perfect harmony. I grab your back to hold on, and you arch against the sting. Perhaps I went to far. 

"I’m so close." Your voice is like a purr from a lion. 

My orgasm completely takes me by surprise. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known - sudden and almost violent. I cry out shouting - I cannot even form your name in my mouth. And it lasts and lasts. When I would normally be coming down to a lull, it just takes me in a whirlpool - never ending. This drives you to grab my hips and move me on you. 

"Lucylucylucylucy," just streams out of your mouth like one continuous word. 

Even as you give one final thrust to hold in place, I’m still riding my own climax to its explosive end. Slowly the warmth and tinglingly dissipate. I collapse on top of you, struggling to get enough air in my lungs. 

You lean your head back. “I love these spectacles.”

I laugh against your shoulder. “I do too. Don’t ever take them off.”


	6. A picture tells a thousand words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Sherlock forget an important appointment?

Lucy

 

Everyone is late - you, Dr. Wright. I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes past when my appointment was to be. I try not to move too much with my overly full ladder. The words on the parents magazine blur. Something about healthy weight gain during pregnancy. 

The first week after finding out, you stocked the fridge with ice cream and pickles because you read it was a common craving in pregnant women. I ate the ice cream and vomited when I opened the pickles. 

A nurse appears in the doorway. “Cindy Jeffries?”

A very pregnant woman hoists herself out of the chair to waddle in the nurse’s direction. She looks incredibly uncomfortable. That will be me in a few months. 

I look at my phone. No calms or missed texts. I refuse to contact you. We discussed this appointment last night. In detail, if I recall. You still want to know the sex so that we can be prepared with a name and proper clothing. I want to be surprised. Studies have shown the energy level in a delivery room where the gender is unknown is much higher than those who know. I have forbidden you from deducing or using any of your others means in finding out. 

"Lucy Adams?" The nurse calls.

I sigh heavily. I shuffle past other couples anxiously waiting their turn. 

I’m lead to a dark room with a bed and a few monitors. 

"Hop right up, luv," the woman says. "I’m Rita and I’ll be taking measurements to show Dr. Wright. Then he’ll be in to discuss the results."

I nod and get on the bed. I know the results of the blood draw taken 3 weeks ago. Of course, you hacked into the system. I only allowed you look at the odds - not the details. 

"It’s foolish," you said. "They tell you two weeks when they have the data in two days. Why make women wait?"

My numbers were very good. There was no indication of chromosomal abnormalities. One worry off my chest.

Rita squirts warm blue gel all over my abdomen. “Are you finding out the gender today?”

"No. I want to be surprised." 

She smiles. “That’s lovely. It’s so exciting to not know.” 

She flicks on the monitor across from me and explains that one is for her to take measurements and the larger monitor is for me to see the baby. 

"Ready?" she asks.

I nod, still annoyed I’m doing this on my own. I wonder how much more will be done solo. 

With the wand, she presses down on my belly to reveal the tiny alien inside me. 

"You can see the head." She points out. "And there are two perfect arms with five fingers each. There is the backbone. That black section is the heart. Do you see the fluttering inside?"

"Yes." It’s amazing really. All this going on inside me.

"Heartbeat is strong. About 155bpm. That other hole is the stomach." 

I see two legs curled up. She presses a little harder to bring up the perfect image of a tiny foot. She takes a snap shot.

"We’ll take plenty of photos for you to share."

That will be the only way you’ll see - the photos she takes. I suppose it’s something. I try to tamp down the disappointment of how I thought this would go and try to remember the good times. Like how you have taken to giving my belly a kiss when you come and go. How you leave Consumer Reports on cots, bassinets and prams on the kitchen table, desk and bedside table with your recommendations. 

Rita introduces me to the baby’s vital parts, though it all looks blurry to me. 

Outside the room, there is great commotion. Shoes scuffle against the floor and muffled voice draw closer. There is a bang and then the door is yanked open, flooding the dark room with light.

Rita stands in front of me with her chest puffed in a protective stance. “What is this? Get out immediately!”

There you are outlined by the hall light. Two security guards flank each side. One has wrenched your arm behind your back. You wince as he squeezes up. 

"Lucy? Little help?" You peer up through those unruly curls.

I roll my eyes. “He’s the father. It’s okay.”

Rita is not backing down. “Sir, there are protocols.”

"I’m sorry I’m late." You take a sharp breath as you struggle against the guards. 

"Can you release him?" I ask flatly. 

They look at each other then to Rita who nods tersely.

"Well Mr…."Rita starts clearly annoyed. She’s not the only one.

"Sherlock." You rub your arm.

"Always have to make an entrance?" I ask.

 

 

"Sorry. I told Lestrade I had to finish my statement by 2 o’clock." You glare at the security guards still standing behind you. "You can leave. I pose no threat as you can see."

"Humph." Rita mumbles. "Go on. Thank you for considering the well being of our patient." 

You roll your eyes and stand by my head. “I’m sorry.”

I sigh. “You’re here now.”

Truthfully, I’m chuffed you didn’t forget. I fully expected to just leave those photos on your computer and go to bed angry.

You press a kiss to my forehead then lips. “Are we having a girl or boy?”

"We’re not finding out, remember?" 

You smile sweetly. “Can I convince you to reconsider?”

 

 

"No. I want to be surprised." 

"Shall we continue?" Rita breaks the stalemate of gazes. 

Rita starts from the beginning to go over what you’ve missed. You nod along as if this is tedious. Of course, you’ve seen a fetus before. I remember one particularly gruesome case that involved a fetus about 20 weeks gestation. You were not allowed to put those photos on the wall. 

While Rita gives you a tour of our baby, it moves its legs and waves an arm. You freeze and watch with fascination as if it dawns on you that this is a part of you. 

Rita shows the foot again and you move closer to the screen. 

 

 

"That’s us." You beam.

"Yes, it is." I touch your hand.

"You forget that it’s not just morning sickness and pram shopping." You blink.

Rita relaxes a little. “Now I’ll take the measurements.”

To anyone else, this would be the boring part. At least to me it is. You take out a notebook and begin to jot down all the measurements as well. 

"There’s no need for you to do that, sir." Rita says.

"Of course there is. This is my child." You shake your head like she’s said the silliest thing ever.

Rita looks to me for assurance.

"Just go about your work and try to ignore him." I suggest.

She continues, but is distracted by your scribbling. She hurries to finish.

"Okay. Dr. Wright will be in to talk to you." She smiles awkwardly.

"Is everything all right?" I ask.

"Looks good, but the doctor likes to look and talk with the family." With a nod, she is gone.

You still jot down notes. Family? Is that what we are now? If I really think about it, family would be not just the two and a half of us. There is John and Mary, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft. Will the baby be Adams-Holmes or Holmes-Adams? 

"What are you doing?" I look over.

"Taking notes. I want a second opinion." You pocket your notebook.

"From who?" I frown. 

"John, any of the capable doctor’s at St. Bart’s." You see my deepening frown. "What?"

"I thought you liked Dr. Wright."

"Yes, he’s fine." You pause. "A bit old, but fine."

"Sherlock." I warn.

"I just want what’s best for our baby. Can you honestly find fault in that?"

I melt for a moment. Dotting father, Sherlock Holmes. 

"Don’t think about hacking in to find out the sex." I warn.

You pat my head affectionately. “I would have done that weeks ago after the first blood draw. You know that your blood carries some of the baby’s DNA? Lucy, the fact that I have not checked or tested your blood shows my deep love and respect for you. I’m positively itching to get it under a microscope.”

Once again, sweet and strange words of endearment fall from your mouth.

Dr. Wright shuffles in. “Afternoon mum and dad.”

He’s so cheery it’s hard not to smile.

"I took a look at the young fella there."

We share a glance. 

"The baby looks perfect. Right on schedule. You look wonderful, mother. Blood pressure is right where it should be." He grabs the wand and squeezes more blue goo on my belly.

The first image he catches is the baby’s face. I can make out the mouth and nose perfectly. I don’t hear much after that. Images of children with your dark curls, full lips and amazing bone structure fill my head. With your DNA, what of mine will this child need? Truthfully, your everything is more beautiful. Maybe the baby could do with my nose, but that’s it.  

"Keep up the good work and we’ll see you in two weeks." Dr. Wright pats my arm. He cleans my belly off with a warm flannel and hands you a fistful of scans from the appointment. 

I pull my large stretchy pants over my protruding stomach. I miss seeing my feet.

"Are you heading back to Scotland Yard?" 

"I told Lestrade I was done for the day. Unless there’s an emergency of course." You help me with my coat.

"Of course."

"Take away?" You grab my hand.

"Indian? I’m craving spicy." I notice you fix the security guards with a leveling glare as we pass.

"Is that okay for the baby?" You quirk an eyebrow. 

"Really Mr. Research? I might endure heartburn, but that’s my problem, not the baby’s." I shrug.

You flip through the several scans the doctor gave us on the way home. With each scan, your grin brightens. 

"Fine looking chap." 

"Did you peek at the report?" I sigh heavily.

"That’s what Dr. Wright said. He said ‘fella’. Perhaps he slipped." 

"He also said ‘she’." I point out. "Please tell me you don’t know."

"I don’t. I have theories, but that is it. I promised I would not hack into the database." You cover your heart.

"If you did, the baby will be downstairs and you will be upstairs." I grumble.

"Speaking of that, is it a good idea to be a full floor away from him?" You ask.

"Stop with the gender specific pronouns."I warn. "The baby will be in our room for the first few months."

"Where will we have intercourse?" You frown.

"You realise that I won’t be able to until at least six weeks after the birth." You look horrified by the concept. "You’ve gone longer without sex."

"That was before you. You are more addictive than coke or heroin." You growl in my ear.

"Thank you, I think?" Your lips brush my neck. Even as fat as I feel, you make me feel desired.

"When we get inside…" Your hand slides up my thigh. 

"I’m really shocked that I still turn you on."

You pull back. “Are you serious? You don’t think your beautiful?”

 

 

"I’d never describe myself that way to start, but now? I already feel large." I feel a full strop coming on. It must be the hormones.

"You don’t see the way you light up. You are glowing."

"That’s sweat." I counter.

You move close. “Stop.” A slow kiss turns passionate within seconds. We hear the driver clear his throat, but ignore him. We don’t even realise we’re at Baker Street.

"Sorry." I blush and slip out.

Your rumbling laugh beside me stills as you join me on the sidewalk.

"Bloody hell." Your shoulders droop. "What is Mycroft doing here?"

"How do you do that?" I blink.

"Sibling rivalry. Let’s see what he wants." You push through the door.

Mycroft is in your chair. You sigh in exasperation as you remove your coat. 

I cross the room to drop a kiss to his cheek, surprising you both. He blushes while you frown.

"Hello Mycroft. Anyone fancy a cuppa?" I move to the kitchen.

"That would be lovely." He calls out. "Sherlock, always pleasant to see you."

"What do you want?" 

"Can’t I stop by to see how my niece or nephew is doing?" He shrugs innocently.

"No, you can’t. I’m sure you’ve seen the reports. Those should suffice."

Mycroft holds up his phone to show one of the scans taken today. “Heard you caused quite a ruckus.”

"It wasn’t that bad. The security guards are frustrated police rejects." You scoff.

I return with a tea cup for Mycroft and a steaming mug for you.

"None for you?" Mycroft asks.

"I’ve had my one cup of coffee this morning. I loathe the herbal stuff." I ease myself into my chair. "Did you really pop by to see how we were doing?"

"Sherlock, she makes an excellent cup of tea. Don’t let her go." His dark eyes sparkle.

I feel your hand on the back of my neck.”I don’t plan to.”

"Lucy, does your mother know?" He leans forward.

 

 

I cast my eyes to the floor. “Not yet.”

Leaning back, he steeples his fingers under his nose. “It’s been brought to my attention that some tabloids are beginning to take notice of your condition. I’d hate for her to find out that way.”

"Are you involved in delaying them?" You ask.

"I won’t be able to for long." He sighs.

"Why do they care?" I shake my head.

"That dreadful business over the summer is not that long ago." Mycroft points out. "If another actress overdoses, I can delay them longer."

I hope that’s nothing he would manufacture.

"We’ll tell Anna." Your fingers massage my shoulder.

Mycroft nods tightly. “I must be off. Rather important state dinner to attend.”

"Thank you for squeezing us in." You open the door for him.

"Of course, brother mine." His eyes turn to me. "Lucy always a pleasure."

There is genuine warmth in his words. I’m positive that I wouldn’t have passed Mummy Holmes approval. She would have wanted someone with a bit more refinement and prestige. Perhaps Mycroft did as well. If what you’ve said is true, then you’ve never had a relationship before this. I really am the Holmes last hope for an heir.

You dust off your chair before sitting across from me. “Do you want me here when you tell her?”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t have to tell her anymore. She’ll know with one look.”

"Do you want me here?" 

"I can ask Mary or Rachel. Or I can just be a big girl and do it on my own. What can she do? Cry? Be upset? Decide to never see me again?" I rub my forehead. I’ve been avoiding this for too many months. That alone will piss her off. Maybe she’ll be thrilled to bits that she’s a grandchild on the way. When we started this relationship, I’d never guess that we would wind up here.

"I will do whatever you need." You stand and tack some of the scans on the wall beside the mantle. 

I reach for your hand. “You are very good to me.”

You look surprised. “Can you write an article to that effect? Everyone seems to be waiting for me to cock this up.”

"They don’t see the small moments." I pull myself up with your help. "Where are the menus? I’m dying for the spiciest thing they have."


	7. Take care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy tells her mum.....

Lucy

 

The footsteps on the stairs make me take a deep breath. I left the door open for her arrival. Three more stairs. I pull myself up from your chair to greet her.

"Lucy?" she calls apprehensively into the flat.

"I’m here, Mum." I turn to face her.

Her cautious smile slips from her face as her eyes wander over my swollen middle. “Oh Jesus. Oh Lucy.”

"Hello Mum. You can gather why I called you." I smile while braving myself what could come next.

"Uh, I see." She swallows. Her eyes dart from my eyes to my stomach and around the flat. She does this at least three times. "It’s his, isn’t it?"

A part of me crumbles. “Still can’t say his name, Mother?”

"Sherlock. It’s Sherlock’s." Her voice is tight.

"Yes, he is the father." I nod.

"Is he here?" She glances down the hall towards the bedroom.

"No, he thought it might upset you." I’m glad you are not here at the moment.

She nods as her eyes scour the flat. It’s like she cannot stand to look at me. “Are you…m-m…”

"No, we are not married. We’ve no plans to either." I caress my belly. I’ve begun to feel flutters that range from gas bubbles to the feeling of a fish swimming in my belly. You’ve been jealous that you can’t feel the baby yet.

 

 

"But you are still together?"

"Very much so." I state firmly.

We stand in excruciating silence for a minute. It feels like an hour.

"So, I’m going to be a grand-mum?" Her eyes brighten for the first time.

I smile. “You are. In September.”

Her eyes crinkle. “That’s your birthday.”

I can’t stop my eyes from misting. “I know.”

"Can I hug you?" She blinks.

"Of course."

Within seconds, I’m in her arms. I admit that I felt shiftless without her in my life. You and I were orphans clinging to one another. 

"Why did you wait so long to tell me?" She pulls away.

"We didn’t part on the best terms. You made it quite clear I was choosing him over you." I wipe my eyes.

"I’m sorry, Lucy. I am still not convinced he’s the best for you. That is what a mother wants - the best. You’ll learn." Her voice shakes.

"You should want me to be happy and he does that." I say.

"And how does he feel about this? I never took him for a family man." The ice is back in her eyes.

"He’s thrilled. We were both startled. It wasn’t planned." I hold up my hand. "And before you lecture me about birth control, I knew what I was doing. Rachel has already addressed that."

"Rachel knows? Before me?"

"She knew before Sherlock. I turned to her when I suspected." I wave my hands. "No matter. We are thrilled."

She nods thoughtfully. “Do you know what it is?”

"No." I pause. "Well, Sherlock might. He promised to not find out, but he hates not knowing something." I see her mouth draw into a straight line. "But it’s healthy - whatever it is."

She smiles again. “I’m glad. I wish you told me sooner, but I’m glad I’m here now. Can I be a part of this?”

"You can if you can be civil to the father. He’s not going anywhere. He’s in my life permanently." I warn.

She stiffens but nods. “I understand that. The last thing you need is for me to cause you stress. I just want to be involved.”

I hug her. “Then you are. Now, let’s have some tea.”

 

 

*  *  *  *  *   *  *  *  *  

John

 

Sometimes barely a 5 case becomes a 10. When that happens, your eyes dance with sheer delight. When we started this case, you rolled your eyes and slumped in the chair. The simple embezzlement case unfolds into extortion, infidelity, incest and attempted murder. Family businesses can be very tricky and perhaps a little dangerous. The Granger family is not exactly a New York crime family, but they certainly aspire towards it.

We crisscross London and back - from dirty car parks to riverbeds back to the Granger’s estate. In taxis, you either retreat to your mind or ramble as if I’m not there. You are utterly focused on the case, and I nearly have to force feed you some pasta. If Lucy knew how long it’s been since you’ve had more than coffee, she’d kill us both.

As like most cases, it ends as nightfall approaches. Against Greg’s direction and my urging, you’ve run off on your own. There’s no stopping you once you solve the puzzle. Greg and I scramble to find you before you get yourself into too much trouble.

Inevitably, gunshots ring out in another crowded car park. I hit the ground and listen. There is one set of shots from a Glock. A second set from a Sig rings through the air shattering glass. I reach into my waistband. I still have mine. A third round gun, a Browning, joins the chorus of pops. I want to shout your name, but know better. My heart races as I grab my gun and release the safety.

 

 

"Where is he?" Greg asks.

I look to my phone. No messages. “I don’t know. If I message him, it could draw attention.” I whisper.

"Bollocks." Greg grits. "Will he ever learn?"

"He’s Sherlock, the most ignorant genius in the world. He created the job." I am livid with you. You cannot just go off running like this.

There is a pause in the pops. I hear shoes on the pavement. There is running, a pop and something or someone skidding. I peer around a car to see a lump in a dark coat several yards from us. My heart stops. Oh God no no no.

I inch near while staying close to the ground. The body has dark hair. I swallow the lump in my throat. I am not a praying man, but I begin to toss up every prayer I know.

I hear someone approaching and I duck between two cars.

"John?"

I nearly weep at the sound of that baritone whisper. “Sherlock?” I squeak out.

Suddenly, you are crouched in front of me. “Are you all right?”

 

 

"I’m fine. I’m good." I gesture around the car to the lump. "Who is that?"

"Sadly, the son. He died trying to protect his mother from the uncle." You look over your shoulder.

"You mean his lover?" I shudder.

"Same thing." You shrug casually.

A few more shots fire over our head. You press your back to the car next to me. The Browning is in your hand.

"That was your gun I heard." I say.

"Probably." You peer around the bumper.

A few more gunshots pop.

"Freeze!" Greg shouts. "Drop your weapon!"

We look at each other. “Is it safe?”

You shrug. “Lestrade? All clear?”

"I have three shooting victims and one suspect. I think you are good." The radio crackles. "I need an ambulance. I have two injured. One critical. I need one coroner van."

I stand on unsteady legs stiff from crouching for so long.

You hang you head and breathe deeply.

"Are you coming?" I turn around.

"Yes." You wince. A trail of blood smears across the silver car as you stagger to your feet.

"Jesus Sherlock, you’re bleeding." I move closer.

"Oh, you were top of your class, weren’t you?" You mutter.

"Let me see." I tug you closer. "Lestrade."

"Don’t." You narrow your eyes. "I Just want to go home."

 

 

"You need medical attention." I pull your coat open.

"Not there." You hiss quietly. "My arm. It’s just a graze."

"You need a hospital." I implore.

"No, I need a medical professional of which you are." You look at your bicep and roll your eyes. "Look what they did to my coat."

I can’t help but laugh. Only you would care about a bloody wool coat more.

"Okay, let’s go then." I grab your uninjured arm.

We slip out before Greg notices that we’re gone. With your scarf, I put pressure on your arm. There’s not much blood loss, but I want to be sure.

"I’m glad I’m not wearing the one Lucy made." You lean your head back.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired, sore." You sigh.

We pull up to Baker Street. You glance up at the lights in the windows.

"Oh hell. Lucy is home. She will not be pleased." You scratch your head.

"Would you rather go to a hospital?" I have the taxi wait.

"No, I just want to be cleaned up and a have some tea." You push on the door.

Two female voices echo down the hall. You freeze midway on the stairs.

"Bollocks. I forgot Anna was coming over." You rub your forehead.

"Anna? "

"Lucy’s mother. She just told her mother today." You drop your head.

And you coming home bleeding and battered is not good. Despite your hunched shoulders, you continue up the stairs. I pause not really wanting to have anything to do with this.

"Doctor?" You look over your shoulder.

I nod tersely and continue after you.

"Sherlock," Lucy says warmly. She knows something is wrong immediately.

"Hello Anna." You nod. "You look well. How are you?"

Anna looks cautious. “I’m good. But how are you?”

You smile casually. “Oh you know. Casualty of the job.” You shrug off your wool coat.

Lucy gasps. “What happened?”

You grin. “It escalated from a 5 to a 10.”

 

 

 

I move to the bathroom to gather medical supplies. With your line of work, a small triage center is stocked there. I can’t hear what’s being said, but the volume is escalating. Oddly not from Lucy, but Anna.

"I don’t think you and the baby should be here with a man who finds trouble so easily. You aren’t safe." She huffs.

Lucy helps you remove your suit jacket. Some of the blood has dried causing the cloth to stick to the wound.

Anna is now pacing while being largely ignored.

I place the supplies on the kitchen table. “Sit here.”

You touch Lucy’s cheek lightly. “I’m fine. Just a graze.”

Another suit jacket and silk shirt ruined. You toss the shirt into the bin and sit in front of me.

Anna gets a full view of your torso with all its scars and nicks.

"Good Lord." She stares.

Lucy sits beside you to inspect the wound. The graze was actually a clean pass through the flesh of your tricep.

"He’ll be fine. It was a small bullet and passed through." I reassure Lucy.

You have a hard time meeting her gaze. “Awful case. Extortion, incest and assault.”

"Incest?" Anna gulps.

"Yeah, the son and the mother…they…were in love." I offer.

"That’s disgusting." She scoffs.

"The son is dead." You state simply. "Uncle killed him."

"Who shot you?" Lucy asks quietly.

Your eyes soften. “I’m not sure. There was a lot of gunfire.”

She sighs. “You can’t keep running into danger like this anymore.”

 

 

You look to her belly. “I know. I know.” Your hand rests on her bump.

It’s always a bit surreal to see you in these tender moments. You and Lucy are not overly affectionate in mixed company. You may lay your hand on her leg or casually slip an arm around her. Most of the time, it’s similar to when she moved in - trading barbs. Watching your thumb make small circles over the baby causes my chest to tighten. I know I’d do anything to protect you and your family.

Anna, of course, has to interrupt. “Lucy, this is no place for a baby. Am I the only one to see this?”

"Mother stop. I’m not leaving." Lucy sighs.

"Anna, do you think I’d let harm come to Lucy or the baby? You don’t think that my every move is tracked by my brother. There are enough people in our world to keep them safe."

I nod in agreement.

"And I’ll have you know that your daughter is an excellent shot." Your lips curl into a smile.

Lucy leans over to kiss you leaving Anna to look on horrified.


	8. How much is that doggie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns about the the things that unhinge a pregnant woman

Sherlock

 

Sherlock as a Father - Episode 11 - SH

Delete. Delete. Del - no keep that. Favourite colour. Hmmm. Case - ten years old - solved within 37 hours from start. Nothing unusual. Nothing to store. Delete. Enemy. Store for future use. Mary’s birthday. Delete? No - John. Next - delete. Don’t go in that room. That will take days. 

Slowly my eyes flutter open. The flat is dimmer than before. I smell something spicy. Curry? No, smells like cumin and chili powder - Mexican. As I become acquainted with my surroundings I hear a sniffle followed by another. My head whips around to the sofa. Your arms are wrapped around the Union Jack pillow. Your glassy gaze is fixed on the telly. You suppress a shudder. I move quickly.

"Lucy, what’s wrong? Is it the baby?" I touch your arm.

"It’s nothing." Tears roll across your cheeks.

"It’s something. What upset you? Your mother? Work?" 

You shake your head. “It’s really nothing.”

"Lucy, you tell me right now." You are protecting something or someone.

"Jesus Sherlock. I was losing my shit over an advert." You huff.

"Did you say…advert?" I blink.

"Yes! It’s the one with Sarah McLaughlin song." Your voice wavers.

"I do not know who that is." I confess.

"She sings a sad song and talks about how many dogs die in kennels and how many are abused and neglected." You croak.

More tears. “I don’t understand. Do you want a dog?”

"It’s just sad! It made me sad!" You howl.

"But you don’t even know those dogs." The moment the laugh leaves my throat I know it was somehow misplaced in this instance.

"I know! It’s doesn’t matter. It’s awful awful!" You are inconsolable now.

I am stunned. I’ve read about irrational mood swings at the start. You’ve have a few moments over which tea to buy. You’ve been angry over the television programme I’ve put on. This is extraordinary. Hundreds of experiments pop into my head. What triggers different emotional responses in a pregnant woman? I push those thoughts to a temporary file to access later.

"I-I-I…don’t know what to say to make this stop." I admit.

"Just let it run its course." You take a deep breath.

I sit back on my heels with my hands on my thighs. You take several deep breaths. I move to get you some facial tissues. 

"Thanks." You sniffle.

Several feet clamour up the stairs. 

"Yoo hoo," Mrs. Hudson calls.

I roll my eyes. “A client now?”

"Everyone decent?" She knocks on the door.

"Yes!" I call.

You shuffle to the sink to wash your face. 

Instead of clients, Lestrade and Molly enter the flat. 

Mrs. Hudson looks to you. “My dear…what’s wrong?”

That starts the tears again.

She glares at me. “Sherlock Holmes, what have you done?”

I hold my hands up defensively. “I did nothing.” 

"What has her in this state?" Mrs. Hudson demands.

"A television advertisement about dogs." I place my hands on my hips.

You nod in agreement. “Sorry. Stupid hormones.” You take another deep breath.

"Oh you poor thing." She hugs you.

I turn to a stunned Lestrade and Molly. “What can I do for you?”

"Uh, we just had some news we wanted to share." Lestrade looks from me to you.

That’s when you spot it. A diamond ring on Molly’s finger. The style is similar to the one he gave you but larger. Your face is a mixture of shock and something else that makes me uncomfortable.

"We…I mean…I asked," Lestrade rubs the back of his neck. He takes a cleansing breath. "Molly and I are getting married." 

I steal a glance to you. Your eyes fill with water. Not again. I’d rather have to go out at three in the morning for a sausage roll than endure the constant crying.

And why are you crying? You didn’t want to be engaged to him. Having sexual relations with me confirmed that. Are you having regrets?

Everyone holds their collective breath.

"That’s so wonderful!" You cry. Molly is nearly knocked to the ground by your forceful hug. "Greg, I’m so happy for you!"

Relief washes over me. I will always live in the shadow of your relationship with Lestrade. A part of me will doubt the reasons you chose me. I am not easy or cuddly. I retreat within myself for hours - days even. I don’t always tell you how attractive I find you. I forget to ask you about your day. I am terrified of fatherhood and the very real possibility of failure in the arena. Yet you are still here with a smile, sometimes a cross word - but here with me.

"We wanted to tell you before word got out." Greg clears his throat.

I watch him. There’s no air of regret or longing. Molly is not the consolation prize. He will always love you and hate me in some small way. But even he realizes that Molly is a better companion. 

I extend my hand and a genuine smile. “Congratulations Greg.”

He pulls me into an awkward hug.

"Have you discussed dates?" You ask.

They both blush. “Sooner than later. Before she changes her mind.”

You blanch at his words.

"No, I’m sorry. It was a joke, I didn’t mean.." He stutters.

"It’s fine, Greg." You squeeze him tight as if releasing all the leftover hurt and emotions from your relationship with him. "I’m glad you came to tell us."

Molly nervously tucks her hair behind her ear. “It is you who I should thank.” 

We share the same thought - awkward. Yes Lucy, thank you for shagging your flatmate that I was in love with so you would leave your fiancé free for me. Awkward. I will delete this moment as soon as it is over.

"You helped me see what was right in front of me." She reaches for Lestrade’s hand with a bashful smile. 

Dear God. Nights of boring intercourse are in their future. They both want safe and cozy. You and I live for the edge and to push the limits. 

"I’m glad it all worked out." You stand beside me. 

"I don’t presume I’m your best man," I say.

Lestrade rubs the back of his neck. “Um no. I’m going to ask John.”

I clasp my hands behind my back. “You are mates. That makes perfect sense. I’m sorry that he didn’t choose you for his.” Truthfully, I would mind a great deal.

"No, you’re his best friend." His eyes shift around the room. "Maybe at one time…"

"Ah yes." The air in the flat crushes my lungs.

"We have champagne in the fridge, don’t we? One of your clients gave you a good bottle." You bustle to the kitchen.

"Thanks Lucy, but we’re off to John and Mary’s to tell them." He starts.

"Of course." You smile. "Thank you for sharing your wonderful news."

"I’d like you to be in the wedding as a bridesmaid, Lucy." Molly steps forward.

"Of course. What if I’m still like this?" You gesture to your belly. "No bride likes a pregnant woman mucking up her photos."

She chuckles. “I don’t care. We haven’t set a date. I like autumn. You’ll be a mother then.” 

"Then I accept." You hug her one more time.

"Come on. Before it gets too late." Lestrade holds his hand to Molly.

They run into Mrs. Hudson who coos and yelps with the news.

"It’s not a shock. Perhaps the speed of it, but the engagement, no." You shake your head.

I watch you carefully. “Are you fine with this?”

"Them getting married? Why wouldn’t I? Sherlock, I’ve been with you for over a year. I’m well over Greg Lestrade. I was over him before I was under you." You reach up to kiss my cheek. 

I smirk. “Technically, I was under you.”

"Shh." You poke me in the ribs.

"The ring was nicer than yours was." I muse.

"Sherlock." Your voice drops.

"Sorry." I purse my lips.

I open my mouth to ask a question neither of us really wants to discuss. We avoid the conversation because we know we sit on opposite sides of the topic. Seeing Molly’s ring brings those things to the surface. You say you don’t require it, that we are different. However, I saw your eyes glaze at the piece of jewelry. If I did it - bought you a ring and said those words - you would know I did it for you. That’s not enough for you. 

I sniff the spices in the air. “Mexican?”

"I made a chili and cornbread." You push past me to the kitchen.

"Without carrots this time. You remembered." I stop you. "This is enough, yes?"

Your eyes soften as you touch my cheek. “You are a handful and more than enough.”

"That’s not what I mean." My voice catches. We’ve so much at stake now. Something that links us forever grows inside of you. If this doesn’t work, it will certainly break me.

"This is enough. After dinner, I’ll show you just how ‘enough’ this is." You purr.

Even after a year and a belly swollen with child, I never stop craving your skin. In fact, it’s been sweeter lately. I crush you to me as much as I can to kiss you.

"The chili will make you flatulent." I whisper.

"Will that stop you from ravishing me?" You smile against my lips.

"Decidedly not." 


	9. The power of three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy needs to confront her insecurities....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and taking a moment to offer kudos and comments!

In the back of my mind, I know it's probably wrong. I'm sure I'm not the first pregnant woman, but the mother in me says, you should not be doing this. It's silly really. It won't hurt the baby. I just have to remember to breathe. They say serotonin is good for the baby.

Unfortunately, I can't reach down and tangle my fingers in your soft hair. In fact, I can't see you unless I prop myself up. Oh God, that tongue of yours. It has so, so many talents. It works in tandem with those long fingers and my legs begin to shake. My heels dig into the mattress to prevent myself from bucking up.

Suddenly you disappear. Your mouth is replaced with cool air. I open my eyes.

"You taste different." You announce scientifically.

 

"What?" I pant.

"From last week. I've been cataloging the different textures and taste of your vaginal mucous." You rest your chin on my belly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I prop myself.

You look very proud of yourself now. "Yes. It's much sweeter. I wonder why. I can't wait to taste the changes as we get closer to your due date."

"Just finish the job." I hiss.

"I love it when you are demanding." With a wink, your head disappears.

"Are you enjoying this beyond some bizarre experiment?" I ask.

Your head pops up again. "Oh definitely. I plan to flip you over and take you momentarily."

 

Your tongue begins an assault on me that has me crying your name and fisting bed sheets in seconds. Orgasms while pregnant have been earth shattering. Almost makes me want to stay pregnant.

You let me catch my breath before I haul up on my knees. It's hard not to feel like a whale. I miss the weight of you on top of me as we make love. Watching your face during climax is one of my favourite things. My belly is starting to get in the way if I'm on top. Plus, I see it when I look down and it is almost enough to put me off sex. How you still find me attractive enough for this is beyond me. You must be addicted to sex.

In dark moments, my mind spins off to a place I hate. The Work takes you out of the house for long periods. This isn't new. My overactive pregnant head has you in bed with a young pretty client because I'm just a fat cow . These thoughts mess with my libido which has only increased. It's exhausting all these conflicting emotions. I'm almost lost in this awful maze when your thrusts quicken and hit the right spot. Immediately, I'm brought back to you. My arms shake from the force and I moan. Your lips move against my spine. I can only make out a few words of your affection. You stiffen, your hands tightening on my hips through your climax.

We collapse on the bed. Your hand runs through my damp hair. "Are you okay?" You touch my stomach.

I nod. I can't open my eyes. All I see is your shagging a beautiful woman in my head. I know it's irrational, but I can't stop it.

"Lucy, are you in pain?" Your hand stills.

"No, I just had an orgasm." Please leave it.

"You don't look very post coital at the moment. Tell me what's wrong." You prop up on the headboard and pull me to your chest.

"I don't want to talk about it." I know you'll think it's silly.

"Lucy." Your voice drops to what could be described as a fatherly tone.

"It's stupid. I know it is." I pout.

"Tell me." Your fingers card through my limp hair.

"When you are out late on cases, I have....dark thoughts." I take a deep breath.

"That I'll be hurt? I told you, no more running off half-cocked."

"That you are with someone else." I blurt.

You pull away to look at me. "Have I ever given you reason to doubt my affection for you?"

I shake my head then bury my face in your chest. "No! I know it's ridiculous. I just feel so frumpy and awkward. In bed with you, I used to feel so sexy and desired. I know you are insatiable and I can't move like I used to. I don't feel or look the same."

Large hands cup my face. "This is temporary. It's extraordinary what's going on with your body. I'm fascinated watching how you change - your movements, smells, tastes. I love watching you caress your belly absentmindedly. It shouldn't arouse me, but it does. Just the knowledge that you love something that is a part of me, it's intoxicating and makes me want be inside you too."

You are so earnest that I shiver. "I know it's silly. I'm sorry."

You purr against my neck. "You always feel amazing."

You kiss up my neck to capture my lips. I feel the baby push inside. You freeze and your eyes widen.

"I felt that. Was that gas?" You whisper.

"You felt the baby move." I smile.

My belly jumps again. This time, it's a foot.

 

 

I can count on my hand how many times I've seen your face light up like a Christmas tree. When I moved back in after spending time at Greg's flat. When I finally woke from the coma after being shot. When you entered me for the first time that night over a year ago. And right now - feeling your child move within me.

"Lucy, I adore you." The kiss is fierce and complete. All those silly doubts evaporate as you keep one hand on my belly and cradle my face with the other.

 

You spend hours fascinated with the movement under my skin. Your face is delight to watch. You ask me what it feels like from inside. As I attempt to explain, you write my words on your laptop. My gurgling stomach interrupts this lazy afternoon in bed. Begrudgingly, you whisk me into the rainy afternoon to Angelo's. He fusses over me, like he always does. As my stomach grows, I've noticed my serving sizes have as well. We leave with enough leftovers for two meals. The rain is a drizzle and I insist we walk. On the street hand in hand, we look like any other expectant couple. Not one that has been repeatedly kidnapped, or had their sex life exposed on the page of the nations papers. I soak in the normality of this moment. Your thumb caressing the top of my hand in small circles. The smile in your eyes when you look at me, even if it doesn't reach your lips.

I drop off one container of food to Mrs. Hudson. We chat and I decline her offer for herbal tea and biscuits. The evening air has chilled. I look forward to a fire and some crap telly on the sofa.

I say my goodnights and slowly climb the stairs to our flat. I hear voices. Did you turn the telly on? No, it's your voice. Are you on the phone? No, a deeper voice answers you. It's not a voice I recognize. Mrs. Hudson would have mentioned a client. My heart stutters. An enemy? You sound conversational, not confrontational.

Cautiously, I peer around the open door. A man with dark curls sprawls casually on your chair. Your back is to me, and the man is smiling.

 

"How did you get in?" Your voice is cheerful.

"We have our ways. You should know that." He smirks.

"I thought you were gone for good." You shake your head.

"Me? Never." He pulls himself up in front of you. He's a bit taller than you.

"You fucking tosser." You laugh and wrap your arms around him. You are practically clinging to him.

I rarely hear you swear, and certainly not with a jovial tone.

"How are you? Healed well?" He holds you at arms length.

"It was two years ago." Your voice is quiet.

"It was a rough time." He counters with concern.

You remember to expect me. Your head turns in my direction. "Um..."

The man follows your gaze. "Oh, hello." His smile is bemused but pleasant. "Sherlock?"

You nod - shyly.

 

He huffs as he rubs the back of his neck. "A woman? Really?"

You sigh. "Why does everyone assume I'm homosexual?" You hold your hand out for me to join you.

The mans green eyes widen as they rest on my belly. "Sherlock?"

There is a small smile on your face. "Yes." Your hand caresses me. "We are expecting."

He grabs you into a bear hug. "Sherlock, my boy! You of all of us!"

"Sherlock?" I asks tentatively.

"Lucy, I'm sorry." You untangle yourself from him.

"Lovely name." He nudges you.

You blush - again. "It really is." You take my hand again. "This is the oldest...."

"Hey." He warns.

"And best Holmes of us all." You beam.

While I'm not as sharp as you, I quickly sort out what you mean. "You're..."

"This is Sherrinford Holmes, my big brother." You pat the man on the back.


	10. Most dangerous Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford makes himself comfortable

Lucy

I blink a few times. Of course there is a resemblance with surreal eyes and high cheekbones. "Older brother?"

He takes a step closer. "Please, call me Ford. I gather Sherlock has never mentioned me."

 

"No..." I cast my eyes towards you.

"With your cover, I thought it best to not mention that." 

He nods. "Prudent. I'm sure Mycroft would like to forget my existence."

"Nonsense. He'll be pleased to hear you are in London." 

Ford sits in your chair. "I'm sure he already knows I'm here. Let's set our watches for when he comes banging down the door."

You chuckle. "He was in Vienna so it will take some time for that."

Ford looks at us, arms entwined. "So, I want to hear all about this." He waves a hand over us. "When we last spoke you were desperate to get home to a John Watson."

 

You roll your eyes and gesture for me to sit in my chair. You sit on the arm and curl around me. "John was my flatmate and very good friend. He's still my partner in consulting and a very dear friend to us both."

"Fair play." Ford nods. "How did you two meet?" He looks to me. "I'm sorry if I seem incredulous, but my little brother has never dated a woman. To find him in the family way is alarming." He strokes a grizzled chin.

"I'm his flatmate." I smile.

Ford laughs. "I see a pattern little brother."

I feel you bristle against me. "How are you here? I haven't seen you since..."

"Yes. Not since then." His eyes dart to you quickly. I'm not meant to know where that was. "I honestly thought we had dismantled Moriarty's network. I heard about what happened."

My head snaps up. "You helped?"

You take in a deep breath. "Yes, it was unfortunate that I'm not the only one who can fake a death. That's over now."

Ford notices your hand curl around my shoulder protectively. His eyes light up. "Wait. You're the flatmate?" 

"Yes," I say apprehensively.

"When they said Sherlock's flatmate killed Moriarty, I assumed it was this John Watson. It was you." He leans forward.

"It was." You say softly. "Saved my life."

He rubs his large hands together. "Oh Sherlock. I like her. Are you former MI6?"

I shake my head. "I working in marketing."

His laugh startles us both. It booms through all the rooms. "That's brilliant! How fitting that Moriarty be killed by someone ordinary."

"Lucy is far from ordinary." You hiss.

"He's right. I'm not an agent or anything. Until I moved in the most excitement I had was getting pissed and lost in Birmingham." 

Fords smile is warm and genuine. "So, how long have you lived here?" He asks.

"Almost two years."

"Twenty one months, two weeks and four days." You rattle off like it's in the front of your mind.

"And this...when is he due?" Ford asks.

"Well, we don't know the sex." I look up at your stoic face. "Or at least we aren't supposed to. But - September."

His eyes crinkle when he smiles. "Uncle Ford. I like that. What does Mycroft think? I know emotions and sentimentality disturb him."

"He's rather fond of Lucy." Your fingers caress my thigh.

"You must be special, Lucy. Mycroft hates everyone that's not him." Ford flicks a piece of lint off his grey trousers. All the Holmes men dress impeccably.

"He's mellowed a bit. He's not the same Mycroft." 

Fords eyes darken a bit. "It would appear a lot of things have changed."

Silence stretches between you. There is a private struggle among you. Your gaze breaks first.

"What brings you here? Is your work done?" You change the subject.

He cocks his head. "For a time. My alter ego has completed his task and died. I asked for a little respite before going off to Africa. Wanted to see how the family was."

 

"Appears you received some news." 

"Spotty. I heard about James because it had been my work too. I wanted to come home then." He snarls. "I had to put my trust in our dear brother." He looks to me. "Turns out your girl did the job. Thank you for saving my baby brother." He touches my knee affectionately.

He huff. "I think you can stop referring to me as the baby."

Fords smiles fondly. "You'll always be that to me."

Ford eats our leftovers ravenously. He manages to finish a bottle of single malt scotch we'd forgotten that we have. He asks about us. He assumed we were together during the Moriarty ordeal. His fondness for me grows when he hears I shot Moriarty for just a flatmate. He wants to know all about 'James' as he calls him.

You know I don't like reliving either time I was in Moriarty's company. I excuse myself to prepare the room upstairs for our guest. It's getting late, and he's family. Of course he'd stay with us. However your voices float upstairs and I can hear most of the conversation. I can hear his gasp when he learns that I was shot by you.

"You shot her and she's still having your baby? You best not let her go!" Ford advises.

When the scotch is gone, Ford stretches and yawns. He's had a long voyage from Eastern Europe. He pulls you into a tight hug and drops a kiss to the top of my head before going upstairs.

Quietly, we clear glasses and take away containers. It's not until we are lying in bed that you speak.

"Are you angry I never told you about Ford?"

 

"You couldn't really. His job seems very dangerous." I shrug. "All you Holmes men lead impressive lives."

"Ford is more important than Mycroft and me combined." You prop up on one elbow.

"Mycroft runs the country." I say.

"Mycroft conducts his business from the safety of his office, car and airplanes. Ford doesn't think twice about marching right into certain death. He saved my life several times while I was away."

My hand traces the outline of your hip and waist. "Would you tell me about it sometime?"

"The years I spent doing nothing? I did all that to keep my friends safe and you got shot." You ask bitterly. Your fingers trace my scar which is stretched and angry on my swollen stomach.

My fingers twirl a curl between them. "You need to stop blaming yourself." You open your mouth to protest but my finger silences you. "I could have left. After my computer exploded. After the break-in. After the first time I was taken. It's not like I didn't have ample warning. I stayed and not just because of money. My mum had a place for me in America. I didn't consider leaving."

"Why not? Why did you stay? For Lestrade?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so. I might have told myself that. The thought of you not being in my life somehow, I couldn't fathom it. I was drawn to you like I was a magnet and you were metal. I couldn't explain it, still can't. I needed you." That was such a confusing time. Everyone wanted me to move away from Baker Street. My mums family were ready to help me move to America to keep me safe. I didn't even consider it. I made excuses about my career and my life in London. It was you I couldn't bring myself to leave. Even when I was not certain what was going on between us.

You bury your face in my neck. "I'm glad yohave an appetite for danger."

I chuckle. "I guess so." I trace an old scar on your back that I gather is from your time away. "But, do you ever talk about what you went through?"

"Do you?" 

"That was nothing compared to what you endured." I trace another scar that looks like a puncture wound.

"Mycroft insisted when I returned." You fiddle with my hair. "I had one session and made the counselor cry. We all deal with the loss of control differently. That is really the issue. The pain or degradation, it's minor compared to control being ripped from you." You take a deep breath. "Nothing I suffered while dismantling Moriarty's crime network was worse than when you were in peril. Not being able to protect you torn me apart. Those are the nightmares I have."

"We're fine. And apparently have the most dangerous man at MI6 sleeping upstairs to protect us." I kiss your shoulder.

Your chuckle rumbles through me.


	11. Read it in the Sunday paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets the elder Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for patience. I was on holiday a few weeks ago and had work business. I'm sorry to leave you hanging for so long. Thank you for reading, leaving comments and offering kudos. 
> 
> I love you all!

John Watson

I whistle as I exit Speedy's with three coffees. We finally have an interesting case that should pose no danger to either of us. I don't have the details except something about manufacturing espionage. It will require research and lab work, your favourite.

Voices carry down the stairs. I recognise Mycroft's and yours. What does he want? I imagine that Mycroft has a stake in you investigating the largest manufacturer of resin coated plastic. Somehow this is of National  
Security. And even though this is to be under the radar, Mycroft would find out and interfere.

The door is open when I reach the landing.

"You don't understand the danger you put them in." Mycroft looms over a man sitting in your chair.

"Please, the persona is dead. The mission was completed." The man casually waves his hand.

You sit opposite him in my...er Lucy's chair. Your eyes are fixed on the man.

"You are known to leave loose ends." Mycroft rocks on his heels.

 

The man glares up at Mycroft. "You'll take no responsibility for James?"

"I didn't say that. I placed Sherlock with you and look what good it did." Mycroft spits.

No one notice me hovering in the doorway with a tray of coffee. This man must be an agent that works for Mycroft? He doesn't seem to respect the most dangerous man in the British government.

The man pulls himself up. He has a few inches on Mycroft.

"You saw the report. We neutralised four terror cells. Fifty men either behind bars are better yet - dead." He motions to you. "We did that."

 

  
"You still have many enemies. Don't you think they will come looking for you? Isn't it incredibly irresponsible to stay with Sherlock knowing he has a family to consider?" Mycroft spits.

"Do you honestly think I would allow any harm to come to him?" The man growls.

"You aren't the one thinking of his safety constantly." Mycroft counters.

I'm sure that I'm not supposed to hear all this. Who is this man to you?

"So worried that James managed to kidnap him and Lucy. Shit, Lucy did your job better!" The man laughs a cruel bark.

Mycroft looks back to you and I see the hurt in his eyes. He's not one for emotion, but this man has gotten to Mycroft.

"Moriarty fooled us all. He's dead now and I keep constant monitoring to provide Sherlock security." Mycroft sniffs. "However you have been nothing more than a terrible influence. With his brilliant mind, he could have cured cancer, neurological disorders. He could have been the worlds leading chemist - until you regaled him with your tales of danger and espionage."

"You tried to keep him in a bubble. He has no social graces. It's a wonder the boy got laid at all." The man glances to you. "Let alone in a fatherly way. I guess you skipped the birth control talk."

"I am here you know." You finally speak. "As flattering as the two of you bickering over me is, it is old. We're not children anymore."

 

  
Mycroft turns to you. "You know Ford has enemies. They won't stop looking for him and they will come here knowing he laid his hat here. They will not hesitate to hurt you, Lucy or the baby to get information."

Mycroft is pleading. He actually looks frightened. Now I know the man is Ford. A cousin?

"Do you think I'd put my baby brother in harms way?" Ford crosses his arms.

"Honestly, listen to yourselves. I'm a grown man." You huff.

I nearly drop the coffees. "Brother?"

Three heads turn in my direction for a second before the bickering continues.

"Hi John." Lucy walks over. She had been in the kitchen the entire time.

"There are three of them?" I ask incredulously.

 

She nods and takes the tray. "At least three. Is there more? I have no idea."

The brothers are embroiled in their familial conversation, so I follow Lucy to the kitchen.

She gestures to a chair. "Ford turned up the other night. I was as surprised as you."

"Where does he fall?" Now I see the resemblance. Ford's dark hair is a bit more wiry with its mess of dark curls. His green eyes sit atop impossible cheekbones. Suddenly, I feel bad for Mycroft who has come up short in the Holmes gene pool in regards to appearance.

"He's the oldest. I think there's ten years or so between him and Sherlock." She adds cream to her coffee. "You didn't get decaf, did you?"

I shake my head. "Was I supposed to?"

"No. It's awful. I, and Sherlock," she nods in your direction. "Have allowed me one cup a day."

"I'm watching you, Ford." Mycroft hisses with his head tilted back to meet Ford's glare. "Anything happens to anyone in this flat, I hold you personally responsible."

With that, Mycroft grabs his umbrella on a perfectly sunny day and thunders down the stairs.

Ford huffs a short chuckle. "Always was so dramatic."

You look torn between brothers. Mycroft has done a lot for you. It took a village to keep you from mucking up with Lucy. I had seen his knuckles after Irene's hit man made an attempt on Lucy's life. I didn't think he ever got his hands dirty.

"You must be the blogger!" Ford's booming voice brings me back to the room. He looms over me. "I honestly thought Sherlock and you were a thing until I met this little lady."

"Oh." Is all I can say.

"It's a compliment." You offer with an eye roll. "John Watson, my brother Sherrinford."

Good God, what were your parents thinking? With names like that, you all had to get into espionage.

I extend my hand. Ford's hand wraps around mine like a vice. It's rough and I see white scars on the back extending up his tanned arm. What is it you do, Ford?

"Are you here long?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. I'd like to be around for the big event. Meet my nephew, but another mission awaits."

I send a questioning look to Lucy. "Boy?"

"I don't know. And no one else is supposed to either." She sends a glare in your direction.

"Ford is staying with us for a bit." You smile.

"Much to Fatty's dismay." Ford plops back in your chair.

"That's not nice. He's trying." You suppress a chuckle.

"Imagine living with two Holmes." Lucy mutters.

"You stayed at the estate with Mycroft."

"Yes, but that place was huge. It was easy to be alone. Besides Sherlock and Mycroft stayed away from each other." She leans closer. "There is a bit of hero worship going on."

I look between the two brothers. "It would appear so. Mycroft seems upset."

"He stormed in this morning. Cut his trip short to confront Ford. Mrs. Hudson came upstairs because of all the shouting. You got the tail end of it." She busies herself making toast.

"What's he like?" I nod in Ford's direction.

"A bit like Sherlock but rougher. He's whip smart but has more street sense. And he's a better internal editor." She smiles.

I can't imagine two Holmes in close quarters like this.

"But there's no competition like with Mycroft. They get on well." She looks up and rubs her belly. "I wonder if what Mycroft says is true, you know, about Ford being a danger to us."

"Sherlock is fiercely protective of you. If he honestly thought that - Ford would be in a hotel." It's true I've never seen you so taken with another person - except for Lucy. Even then, you have found equal ground with her. For Ford, I see pure admiration as he leans forward to tell tales of his time away. "And Mycroft cares a great deal for you. I'm sure 221B has received elevated surveillance."

"That's true. Did you eat breakfast?" She leans into the refrigerator.

"Um, sort of. I had one of Mary's omelets." It was pretty dreadful.

She smiles. "I'm about to make a fry up. Care for some?"

"God yes. I binned most of it." I smile sheepishly.

"Sherlock, you did call John here for a reason, yes?" Lucy calls from the stove.

"Yes, the case. We'll head to St. Bart's after breakfast." You turn your head. "Oh coffee!"

Fords eyes light up as well. "There's coffee?"

"I only brought three. I didn't know you existed." I shrug.

You and Ford break into an uproar of laughter. Then you hand him your coffee selflessly. It's like I've slipped into a alternate reality.

"What are you working on?" Ford asks.

"Textile espionage. The leading manufacturer of a certain resin that protects plastics believes that a competitor has acquired their formula. We are finding the spy."

You join Lucy in the kitchen to make tea.

"Sound sexy." Sarcasm drips from Ford's voice.

"Perhaps not. But I am utilising my passion for chemistry and it's safe." Your eyes dart to Lucy.

"Ah." Ford nods and rubs his chin.

"Yes, Sherlock had a recent kiss from a bullet." Lucy announces while buttering bread.

"Can't have that while he's in the family way." Ford muses.

"No, we can't." She levels him with a stare that has me shaking. It works because he nods in agreement and drops his eyes.

You lean over to kiss the top of her head. "I meant my promise."

"The post is here." Mrs. Hudson bustles up the stairs.

"Good morning, love." Ford beams up at Mrs. Hudson.

"Good morning, Sherrinford." She pats his head affectionately. "I'm happy someone here is a morning person."

"Let's see what London got up to while we slept." You toss the Times at me while you keep the Telegraph to flick through.

It's an oddly comforting scene at Baker Street. You and I comb over the news, while Lucy hums in the kitchen. Ford flatters Mrs. Hudson. Then I see it, or the first one. It's in the society pages. One full page of you and Lucy hand-in-hand on the street. Her belly is in plain view and the apparent focus of the article. You notice that I tense.

"Do you have something interesting?" You look up.

"Um, maybe." I motion you over to the sofa.  
You frown but come anyway. "What is that..."

Then you see it. There are four photos of the two of you looking like a typical expecting couple. However, it wouldn't be an article about you without one blurry photo from last years scandal and one with the flap cap. 'Consulting Father?' Is splashed across the top.

Just then, your mobile chimes. You roll your eyes. "You're getting slow, Mycroft. Yes, I saw The Times. The Telegraph too?" You rustle through pages frantically.

I see similar if not identical photos with another catchy byline.

"How many? All? Really. This is news? It's not that unbelievable that I've procreated." You huff.

That gets Lucy's attention. She wipes her hands and wanders over to read over your shoulder. "This is news?"

"It would appear so." You mutter while scanning the article.

Lucy wrinkles her nose. "I look so large."

I peer at the photo. "You both look happy."

Your frown eases as you look at the photos with a fresh perspective. "Of course we do - we are happy."

With a chuckle, Lucy nudges you before returning to breakfast. From across the room, Ford's brow furrows. He seems to like Lucy, so it's not that. Is there a shred of truth to what Mycroft said?


	12. The Holmes boys do not share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford tags along to the morgue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Summer doesn't give me as much time to write it seems. Add the gluttony of Benedict news, it's hard to multitask. Thank for poking me about this story. I have loads more to tell of Lucy and Sherlock. Like I'd leave you hanging without a baby being born!
> 
> Thank you again!

Sherlock 

Molly starts as we burst through the door. 

 

"Do you have everything set up?" I ask, sweeping over to the table.

 

"Yes." Her eyes drift from me to John. 

"Morning Molly." John smiles. Always so polite. 

I look up from the equipment. “Ford, this is going to be quite tedious.” I gesture to several films laid out for my inspection.

"On the contrary." Ford sidles around the table to Molly. "And who might you be?"

I frown. He can really be an unforgivable flirt. I would be worried if you weren’t carrying my child. Ford was always the most appealing Holmes. He has the charm and looks. More importantly, he knows they are his weapons.

 

"M-M-Molly," she stutters.

 

I roll my eyes.

"What is it that you do here, Molly?" he asks.

"Sherlock?" She raises her eyebrows in my direction.

"It’s okay Molly. I’m his big brother." Ford winks.

 

 

"But Mycroft…" she stammers. 

"I’m the bigger one." He offers that sly grin that gets him anything usually.

 

"Molly, this is my brother Sherrinford," I sigh heavily.

 

Her eyes widen. “There are three of you? John, did you…”

He shakes his head as he pulls on some latex gloves. “Not until this morning.” 

Ford leans closer. “I’m the dangerous one.”

 

I’m surprised, as Molly is not Ford’s usual flavour. When he was younger, the prettiest girls called round for him. He was always in the company of some heiress. Mum and Dad had high hopes he’d marry well.

 

 

I ignore their banter as I set myself for the task at hand. While I analyse the contents on the films, I can’t help to think of what Mycroft said earlier. Is Ford a threat to us? For as many enemies as I have, he has ten more. He would never bring danger to me knowingly. Especially knowing my current circumstance. Knowing Mycroft as I do, he has men watching the house. Or rather more men than he had before. If not for you, Mycroft would not care as much. He has a bit of a soft spot for you that I’ve never seen before. Only you could melt the Iceman.

 

While John and I huddle over the microscope, Ford has Molly giggling like a school girl. She gives him a tour of the morgue and some of the more gruesome corpses. 

 

"You aren’t observing, John," I say.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Then why don’t you just tell me as I’m not smart enough to see it myself,” he huffs.

 

 

 

"Gladly." I smile.

Lestrade pushes through the door. “There you are. Do you not have a phone on you?”

Both John and I pull out our mobiles. 

"You know the service down here is shoddy." I frown over the lack of reception. "Do you have something?"

"I do." Lestrade’s eyes wander around the lab.

"Is this a game? Am I to deduce what you’re hear to see me about?" I look to John. "Would you like to join? First one who gets it right has the other buy him lunch."

 

John grins. “This is win-win for me. You’ll get it right and you never eat.”

 

"A murder. Rather grisly. Body was found in the river. The fatal wound is nothing like we’ve seen. Anderson thought it was a drill, but I have doubts." Lestrade pulls his mobile to show me crude photos.

"You can’t expect me to do anything with this? Is the body still at the scene?" 

"No. It should be in the morgue now. It was smelling pretty bad." He wrinkles his nose. 

I look at the photos again. The scene around the body is recognisable. They pulled the bloated man in this mid-forties beside a popular riverfront cafe. It would be bad business to have a rotten corpse beside your dining patio. It certainly helps that the owner is a rather close and clandestine friend of a high ranking inspector. 

I look around for Molly. “I can’t leave these samples exposed.”

John sighs. “I’ll put them away. You go with Greg.”

I’d rather have John there for his expertise. “Fine. Hurry up. I’ll need you in the morgue.”

 

"Yeah, it still sounds strange after all these years," he mutters.

 

"Did Anderson have thoughts on time of death?" I ask.

"Do you want to read his notes?" Lestrade’s eyebrows raise.

I wave my hand. “No, I’m not much for comedy.”

 

The lifts at St. Bart’s are the slowest in London. I clasp my hands behind my back and think to the photos Lestrade has shown me. 

 

"How is Lucy feeling?" 

I will never stop bristling when he mentions your name. “Fine.”

"It’s getting close, eh?" He stares straight ahead. 

Despite falling in love with Molly, he’ll always wonder what could have been if I had not come between you and him. You will always linger in his mind as the one he wished he could have married. Not even Molly will live up to his ideal of you. 

"What?" I glance over.

"The birth. I know Molly and Mary have been planning the shower." He rocks on his heels.

"Shower?" I sigh.

 

"Yes. I thought you researched everything about this," Lestrade huffs.

 

"Every medical possibility and symptom - yes. I have a speadsheet for everything we need. Why would Molly and Mary be planning a shower? Does it help with the birth? Is it soothing like a water birth?"

Lestrade laughs so uproariously that a few doctors move away from us. “Sherlock, a shower is a party women throw for people getting married or having babies.”

I scoff. “Why on Earth is it called ‘shower’?” 

"Showering with gifts, at least that’s what I think." He shrugs. 

"How do they know what to buy?" This is all confusing.

"You go to the store and pick out what you want and people buy it for you. The stores website lists it all for you." 

 

"That actually sounds effective and perhaps a little enjoyable." It’s a bit like Christmas when I would pour through catalogues for all my gifts. "And a party, you said?"

 

"That’s less enjoyable. Bunch of women sitting around cooing over baby clothes and cucumber sandwiches." His nose wrinkles. 

I nod. “That does sound dreadful. Guess Anna will be there.”

"Her mum? Definitely." He smirks. "Don’t get along?"

I give him a quick glance. “We are civil.”

"Hmm. We always got on well." His attempt at hiding a proud grin is failing.

 

 

Silently, I seethe. The dreadful music plinks in the lift as we ride to the basement of St. Bart’s.

 

"She’s got to be pretty big," he muses.

 

"The baby or Lucy?" 

"I guess both. Do you know it’s a girl?" 

"I do not know the baby’s gender." I sniff derisively. "I have been forbidden to find out."

Lestrade barks out a laugh. “And you listened to her?”

I sigh heavily. “Why is this lift so slow?”

Lestrade is still giggling, not very attractive for a man his age. “I need Lucy to tell me how she does it.”

I turn to him. “I think you of all people would know exactly how she does it.”

If John was here, he’d tell that was a bit not good. I believe that Lestrade deserved my volley. Colour drains from his face for five seconds before it rushes back with a violet tinge. The rest of the ride is blissfully quiet.

As we approach the morgue, I hear muffled giggling. Oh dear. With a glance over my shoulder, I enter the room first to make an assessment of the scene. Ford can be quite dashing when he decides to turn up the charm. I’d hate for Lestrade to see his new fiancée in a compromising position.

 

"There’s no giggling in a morgue," I announce.

 

Molly looks up from the leftover personal affects box. Some items are never claimed by the family, but Molly insists on holding on to the items regardless. I’ve heard her and John titter at some of the more ridiculous or lascivious items. 

Ford holds a teal coloured dildo in one gloved hand. It jiggles when he moves his arm. This causes peals of laughter from Molly as he adopts an absurdly high pitched voice.

"I like this one the best." 

Molly beams.

 

 

I narrow my eyes. “You would. Greg is here to show me the fresh body he just caught. Have you processed it?”

Molly blushes furiously upon seeing Lestrade. 

"You used my first name." He muses.

Oh Lestrade, that’s what has caught your attention? It’s no wonder he lost you to me so easily. 

"The fresh meat is over there. The officer said you’d be down." Ford’s voice is laced with mischief. He knew he’d be interrupted.

"Wonderful. I’ll have John assist." I cast a long glance in Molly’s direction. 

"I’m sorry." Lestrade has noticed the lack of distance between Ford and Molly. "Who are you?"

Ford doesn’t move but offers his hand. “Ford Holmes.”

Lestrade blinks furiously. “Holmes?”

Ford rolls his eyes. “You never talk about me?”

"Not with deep cover and all." I pull on a pair of gloves. "But you were missed."

He forces smile. “That’s mighty sweet of you, blood.”

I’ve seen this dance at least four times in the last twelve hours. Lestrade’s eyes ping between Ford and me. 

 

"Yes, there are three," John interrupts.

 

Lestrade gasps. “God help us.”

"I’m the fetching one." Ford winks to Molly who is almost purple. I’ll wager that no one has been this flirtatious with her. I have been known to use my limited charms on her for a desired goal. Yet not quite like Ford. 

I fold my arms. “Ford, Molly. Lestrade, Ford. Ford, John. Molly, Lestrade. John, Molly. There. Everyone acquainted? Are we a proper gang now? Can we get something accomplished?”

Ford leans closer to Molly. “Is he always a prat?”

The entire room, including the corpse I imagine, answers in a chorus of “yes!” 

However, we get to work. At least John and I do. Ford continues his campaign in making Molly blush and Lestrade fume. He hasn’t crossed any lines, but Ford is certainly walking them. If he’s not careful, he will also know the feel of Lestrade’s fist. 

 

"There is nothing left from the wound. No fragments of metal. Whatever pierced his heart was sharp and like a cylinder." John fingers the entry wound. "I suppose the water could have washed away anything."

"You said he didn’t die immediately. He slowly bled out. By the size of the hole and the fact it left a perfect hole, the weapon remained in him for sometime. In fact, after rigor mortis set in." Yet there are no particles or fragments of anything. The water would not have washed away evidence of a weapon left embedded in a body. The wound shows no sign of being flushed. 

 

I look to Lestrade who is busy glaring daggers into Ford. “Do we have an identity?”

"No, just that he’s in his late 50’s." His eyes don’t blink.

John and I chuckle.

 

"What?" Lestrade breaks his gaze. 

 

"Our victim was early to mid 40’s. Do you see the broken veins on this face, yellowing eyes? He is an alcoholic of 25 years. The fingers on his left hand are stained with tobacco. He’s been smoking longer than the drinking. He has worked outside in his younger years - attesting to the advanced wrinkles." I recite the list that Lestrade foolishly misses.

"Do you have any ideas?" He rolls his eyes.

I stare at the bloated corpse. “Maybe two.”

Ford wanders over.

"Excuse me," Lestrade pushes forward.

 

"Oh, let him look." I make room for Ford.

 

He sniffs. “How long was in the water?”

"At least three days." It’s more of a question than statement.

"I’d say just a bit over 72 hours." Ford nods to Lestrade.

Molly inches closer as Ford walks around the body making ‘hmm’ noises and nodding. He grabs a pair of gloves and begins poking at the wound, his hands - looking in his mouth. Basically repeating all the steps I just took. 

 

"Incredible," Molly sighs.

 

Ford gives her the famous lopsided smirk. “Thank you.”

"You’re just like Sherlock. The way you walk around and inspect a body for evidence. It’s uncanny." 

Ford gives me a wink. “Taught him everything I know.”

"Thoughts?" I roll my eyes.

Ford straightens his back. “Yes. I’m starving.” As he strips his latex gloves off his hands, he walks to Molly. “Fancy lunch?”

"I-I-I, um," Molly stammers. 

"Oi. She’s with me." Lestrade announces.

"Calm down, Inspector. It’s just lunch. I wasn’t whisking her to bed." He shoots a smile in her direction. "Unless…"

John grabs Lestrade’s arm before he lunges at Ford.

 

"Can’t you bloody Holmes keep your hands to yourself?" he rages. 

"Greg," John starts.

"You fucking Holmes’ have no boundaries. If you want it, you’ll take it," he spits. 

 

Lestrade is exhibiting some leftover anger from when you left him for me. However, good on Molly. There is a glimmer of enjoyment in her eye. Two men arguing over her. I’m certain that has never happened before.

"Greg, please calm down." Molly places her hands on his chest. "I wasn’t going to go."

"He’s one of them. I’m sure he saw your ring." Lestrade’s eyes do not leave Ford.

"It was really hard to see, old boy. Bit small." Ford shrugs.

"That’s right. A ring makes no difference." Lestrade’s eyes land on me. "Right Sherlock?"

 

 

A smile spreads on Fords face. “Lucy?”

 

"Let’s go Ford. I took photos. If I come to any conclusions, I’ll contact you or someone," I mutter. 

 

I don’t wait for anyone to follow. I’ve been branded the bad person. I didn’t set out to seduce you. Back then, I wouldn’t know the first thing about luring a woman to my bed. It just happened. It was circumstance. Perhaps going to your room after our kiss was playing with fire. At the time I would have never imagined it would lead us here.

"She was engaged to him?" Ford asks.

I stop and whirl around. “Yes. She was until we…”

He tosses his head back in laughter. “You’re more like me than I realised. What a Don Juan you are! Granted, it couldn’t have been difficult to steal her from the silver fox in there.”

 

"That was never my intent. Shared trauma bonds you in a way others will never understand," I state. 

 

"He’s wrong, Sherlock." John says when he catches up.

 

"No John. He’s correct in the sense that he was engaged to Lucy until the night I entered her room and we had intercourse," I snap.

 

"She never belonged to him, Sherlock. I could see it the night he proposed. She loved you." John asserts. 

I nod gently. He’s right. We had danced around emotions for months before that night. 

"You said you were hungry?" I glance up at Ford.

"yes." Ford is inspecting a machine in the hallway. "Is this what I think it is?"

I cross my arms. “What do you think it is?”

Ford glances to John. “Doctor?”

"It’s an ultrasound. Do you think it would help with the case?" He frowns.

"Absolutely. The case of the uncertain gender of baby Holmes." Ford beams.

"I’m not meant to know until the baby is born." I purse my lips in annoyance.

"And you’re going to take a directive from someone?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"When that person is carrying my DNA, yes." I nod.

"When was the last time you had a look at the DNA?" Oh, Ford is feeling mischievous.

 

"Week 18," John answers.

 

Ford peers over his shoulder. “You stay close.”

 

 

"I show John the records for a second opinion." 

Ford begins to push the machine down the hallway. “Cozy. Doc, care to help?”

"What are you doing?" John’s eyes widen.

"He is a bit thick. What does it look like I’m doing?" Ford sighs.

"You can’t steal a machine worth thousands!" John exclaims.

"Will you help me then?" Ford turns to me.

"John is right. We shouldn’t take this." My conviction is weak.

"Don’t you want to see how big he is?" Ford continues to push the machine to a side door.

 

"Yes, but," I protest weakly. 

"Think of Lucy. It’s like a present for her," Ford says.

"You cannot be considering this," John looks to me.

"Well…"

"I will book another appointment," John offers.

 

"Or you can have one any time." Ford smiles.

"We can’t take it." I open the door to the stairwell for Ford.

"Right. We are just borrowing it for a finite time. Another six weeks?" Ford shrugs.

I nod in confirmation as Ford pushes the machine through the door.

"How are you going to get this out the door?" John crosses his arms.

Ford pats his cheek. “I’ve taken much more valuable things. Don’t you fret.”

"How are you getting this home?" John asks.

"Taxi?" I suggest.

 

 

 

"Well I’m not lugging this on the Tube," Ford huffs.

 

"I cannot believe you. Bloody Holmes family." John shakes his head. "And when you get it home? Do you even know how to use it?"

I glance it over. “Can’t be too difficult.”

 

Ford claps him on the back. “And what luck, you are a doctor! Now help me lift this sodding beast.”


	13. You Should Have That Looked At

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An stolen ultrasound machine is not the only unwelcome thing in the flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!

Lucy

 

Walking upstairs seems to take forever. I pause on the bottom step and remember a time when I could bound up to the flat. Now, I have to stop halfway up and rest.

"You might want to have that looked at." I hear Ford’s voice.

"You’re not a doctor. You don’t know what you’re doing." Your voice scoffs. I can hear an actual eye roll. 

"I’ll have to do, as your good doctor wants no part in this.”

What in bloody hell is going on? I take a deep breath and steam forward. I push the door open and am not prepared.

You lie shirtless on the sofa while Ford sits next to you on the coffee table. He is holding an ultrasound wand on your belly. You both watch the screen with knitted eyebrows. 

"Where’s the spleen?" Ford squints.

"I don’t even know what to say," I shake my head.

Your eyes snap to me. “What are you doing home? You’re not due for another three hours.”

"I wasn’t feeling well and they let me go home to rest." I wave my hand between you and Ford. "Should I even bother or go straight to bed?"

You peel off the couch. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

"Oh, you’ve achieved that.” 

You wipe the gel off your abdomen. “This is for you.”

As you motion to the screen, I notice the bow around the machine.

"Where did you get this?"

"The ultrasound store." You raise an eyebrow and disappear to the bedroom. 

"Arse. We brought it home it from the hospital." Ford explains.

 

 

"They let you take it?"

I don’t trust Ford’s smile.

"Of sorts." He points to the couch. "Would you like a turn?"

I rub my forehead. “We can’t keep this.”

"We weren’t going to keep it. We’ll return it after the baby is born." You glide in from the bedroom, buttoning a new shirt.

I sigh. “We can’t keep it now.”

 

 

"She sounds like Watson," Ford mutters.

"Does he know?" I ask.

You purse your lips. “He helped get it here.”

"Rather unwillingly," Ford adds.

"I can imagine." I set my bag on the table and see a sizable gift basket. "Did you also raid the nursery there?"

You frown. “Mrs. Hudson must have brought that up.”

The basket is filled with nappies, sleepers, bottles, rattles, and a stuffed rabbit. The card nestled inside has your name. 

"It’s for you." I hand you the small envelope.

You smirk. “Anderson? Or Donovan?”

"Probably neither." I eye the ultrasound machine. 

Your jaw tenses and clenches. 

"Who is it?" I ask.

You tuck the note back into the envelope. “Former client.”

"Let me see it." I hold out my hand.

"It’s nothing." You inspect the basket carefully.

I grab the note from you.

'Congratulations on your foray into boredom, Darling. How disappointing to see you waste away pushing a pram and changing nappies. Maybe you'll come see me for a spanking when I'm out. Much affection, Irene.'

"That fucking woman." I crush the card in my hand. "I wish I could visit just to punch her again."

Ford approaches. “Such language. Who is this then?” He takes the card from me.

"Irene Adler," you answer sourly. “She caused us some bother months ago.”

 

 

A furtive smile curls on Ford’s lips. “Miss Adler, eh? It’s been years since I’ve seen her.”

We both look at him startled. “Y-you know Irene?” you ask.

"Long ago when she was just a prostitute." He hands the card back to you.

"And you…." Your eyes flutter.

"Definitely. How did you get caught up with her?" He cocks his head. "Did you shag her?"

"I-I didn’t." Your eyes slide to me.

You could toast bread off my skin it feels so hot. I don’t even notice my hand clenching at my side. I’m not sure what passes between you and Ford, but it causes my stomach to wrench. 

"It was long ago." He clears his throat.

I grab the basket. “I’m not keeping it.”

"It’s free baby items," you protest. Ford tuts behind him.

I give you a murderous glare. “I’d sooner keep a basket from Moriarty.” 

A pained look crosses your face. “Okay.”

"I’ll donate it. There’s a shelter for troubled women. They can use this." I head for the door.

"I thought you were tired." You grab my arm.

"I’m not anymore. I’ll be back." I want this sodding thing out of my happy home.

"Let me help." Your voice is soft and placating. It just fuels my fire.

"Fine." I snap. I rush down the stairs faster than I should. I’m winded at the bottom.

"Slow down, Lucy." You lay your hand on my belly. 

I pause and gather my composure. You watch me carefully.

"John and I had no clue about Ford. Most didn’t know. What are the odds Irene didn’t know about Ford, or about you from him?”

Your eyes light up. “Clever. It crossed my mind immediately. I’m not certain it matters now.” You pause. “Regardless, it should be researched.”

"Must it?"

"By Mycroft. I know to not get close to her." You take the basket from me.

I know you think I’m being silly in getting this basket out of the house immediately.

"I don’t think your reaction is ridiculous." 

"It’s creepy when you do that." I glance over.

You smirk. “Your hormone levels are vastly elevated due to the pregnancy and the woman did attempt to have you killed.”

I smile. “That’s just the bonus of being with you. John should have put that in the paper.” I stop. “You aren’t jealous that Ford slept with her? I’m sure a part of you…” 

You hold your hand up while balancing the basket on your hip. “It explains some things. Like her need for control and using sex, or the guise of sex, to obtain it. Even if she mildly interested me many years ago when I first encountered her, it was nothing like the sexual awakening I experienced with you.” You swallow as you avoid my gaze. A flush creeps up from your neck to your cheeks. “It wasn’t immediate, but when I finally understood that my emotions were tied to my desire for you,” you pause to collect your thoughts, “I was tortured most nights by dreams, thoughts.”

I reach up and kiss you deeply. I remember a time when I thought about your lips while kissing Greg, the furtive glances we’d danced around even before that. Now, I get to pull you in and kiss whenever I like. It’s a bit harder with my round belly now.

I loop my arm through yours. “Let’s get rid of this and get dinner.” 

*  *   *   *   *   *

"When you mentioned a gun, I didn’t envision this." You look at the scanner in your hand with disgust.

I shrug. “That’s what they call it. Shall we start with bottles?”

In your suit, you strike a handsome comparison to other expectant fathers shuffling about the baby shop in worn jeans, jogging trousers and multicoloured jumpers. 

You eye the laser gun warily. “Fine. Bottles.”

I don’t really need you with me to do this. Mary offered, as did Mum. I asked you mostly because I thought it would be fun to see you in a baby shop. You shocked me by only rolling your eyes once when I asked.

However, the joke was on me. 

"Are you taking every pram for a spin?" My back is beginning to ache.

 

 

You look up from the overturned pram with narrow eyes. “This is our heir. Don’t you think it is important that we transport the baby in the safest, yet lightest pram available?”

In two hours, we have only registered for five items. I should have known that you would have researched and dedicated a wing in your head for every product. I learn all about BPA free bottles that resemble a breast. 

"This will eliminate nipple confusion," you explain. "Not that any child of ours will be idiotic enough to confuse a cold plastic nipple with the pleasant softness of your breast."

I blush and glance around. One old woman frowns and tuts before walking away.

"While you play, I need the loo." I shake my head and waddle to the back of the store. Why do they put them so far away? Surely they know that most of us have a six pound weight resting on our bladders.

I shuffle back after ten minutes to find you missing from the pram section. A few disgruntled workers are replacing all the ones you took down to try.

A few aisles over, I hear the distinct rumble of your voice. I hobble over to save whatever poor salesperson you’ve managed to waylay this time.

"This one comes with two different sized flanges. Yes, you could order different ones, but in the interest of comfort, would you want to wait?" 

I round the corner to see you in front of the breast pumps. A young pregnant woman and her mother watch as you hold a breast pump in your hand. 

"This one also has a rechargeable battery. As a woman early in your career, you don’t want pumping breast milk to take up too much of your lunch hour.”

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" I ask.

"I have done extensive research on every pump available, and some not available, in this store. I would call myself the most senior expert here, and I am trying to help this single mother with her purchase.” 

"I’m not a single mum," she interjects.

You give her a look over. “You will be.”

My elbow jabs your side.

Another lady steps forward. “We considered renting from the hospital because they are more powerful.”

"For God’s sake woman, it’s not a dairy milking machine," you miff. "If you turn up the suction you will surely damage your nipple. Not to mention by possibly over producing and inviting engorgement which can lead to infections. They should make people take an IQ test before procreating."

 

 

"Can I help you sir?" A nervous sales girl swallows.

You roll your eyes. “I highly doubt it. This is a store for expecting mothers, yet it’s staffed by men or young girls barely past the age of menstruation.” 

 

 

I grab your arm and pull you towards the cots. “I’m getting hungry. Let’s move this along.”

The salesman’s face blanches when you fire ten questions about cot safety. 

"How do you all keep your jobs?" you huff.

I decide to come back another day or carve out eight hours to go over this with you online.

When I tell Mary this, she laughs for a solid five minutes. And as I suspected, photos of you pushing empty prams through the store surface in the gossip section of a few tabloids that love to embarrass us. 

The biggest surprise comes from Mum, who sends a text, of all things, that reads ‘looks like Sherlock is really trying. Good’.

Pregnancy does bizarre things to everyone involved.

 

 

 

  


 


	14. Icicles and Afterburn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to make Lucy comfortable. Lucy takes care of Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. I DID not get to do photos because I wanted to post this before I went on vacation. There is a part 3 to this chapter that I'm still working on. I wanted to give you something for being patient. 
> 
> Thank you for your support and love and for still reading!

Sherlock

Ford stomps up the stairs. His footfalls are distinctive to him. He masks a limp as best he can. His time undercover in Eastern Europe was neither easy nor pleasant. I chuckle to think that Baker Street currently houses three killers.

He shuffles through the door. "I should have known that bird works for Mycroft."

I look up from the microscope with a frown. "You know Anthea."

He shakes his head. "She's on assignment. This one is blonde." 

"Assignment? That's interesting." 

"Is it?" Ford plops on the chair.

"He and Anthea are lovers. It's odd he'd send her away." I switch slides.

Ford sputters. "You mean to tell me that the doughboy is getting more arse than I am?"   


I grin. "It would appear so."

He clutched his stomach and makes wretching noises. Ah yes, the older brother but still the most immature. He settled back with a pleased grin. "Who would have ever thought either of you would be heterosexual?"

I sigh and send him a look. "Just because I don't carry myself like a Neanderthal, I am regarded as a homosexual?"

"You're just a bit," he waves his hand, "swishy."

I turn away. "I can assure you of how not, how did you eloquently put it, 'swishy' I am."

A loud chugging noise erupts from the window behind him.

"What the\--?" He launches off the chair and stares at the compressor in the window. 

"It's a modified freezer unit." 

"Why?" 

"Lucy has complained nonstop in this latest burst of warm weather. It must be pregnancy, because she's never been so disagreeable. Angelo had installed a new system and gave me this one to use." Gooseflesh breaks out on my forearms.

"It's freezing." Ford states the obvious.

I sigh and fix him with a sharp look. "That's the point."

He peers at the machine. "Is this thing safe?"

"Perfectly."

"Just...freon and such. Can't be good for a pregnant person," he shrugs.

"I know that!" I snap. With one hand on the microscope, I tap at my phone. 

"You're looking it up now?" I hear Fords smirk.

"Shut up," I scowl.

*  *  *  *  *

An hour later I hear the slow trudge of your heavy steps. You're tired this afternoon. Yesterday, it took you one minute and 43 seconds to climb the stairs. I look at my phone. You wait at the bottom for 34 seconds as your hand grips the rail. You ascend four stairs and pause. Another two and a deep breath. It is more humid today. The baby pushes your lungs up against your rib cage. There is a heavy sigh when you reach the top at two minutes and 47 seconds.

I put the kettle on for tea.

You are haggard as you step through the door. Large sweat rings form under your arm pits. Usually I enjoy your skin glistening with sweat, but you look clammy and disheveled.

You glance around the flat and sigh again, but it sounds like relief. You close the door behind you.

"Afternoon," I say cheerfully.

You only nod and toss your satchel on the chesterfield.

I wait for you to notice the lower than average temperature of the flat. You ease yourself beside your satchel. 

"Afternoon," you pant. Your unfocused gaze rests on the carpet between our chairs as you rub your belly. The stretching of your skin causes it to itch constantly. Though you've stated that you long to have your body to yourself, I suspect you will miss the intimacy of pregnancy. 

I ready two mugs for tea. I consider giving you an herbal tea, but the last time I did, we lost a mug. [I'm no Brit-picker, but I believe the Brits would use the article "a" rather than "an" before "herbal," as they do pronounce that h we treat as silent. You may want to ask on twitter, though.]

You shudder on the couch and I see you start to come back to the present.

"Are you storing corpses here to prevent having to go out in this heat?" you ask.

"It's refreshing?" I suggest brightly.

You rub your hands together. "For a minute. It's bloody freezing in here. Are you storing body parts?" 

"No. I know you have been uncomfortable in this weather." I gesture to the compressor in the window.

"What is that?"

"Angelo's old freezer unit, or part of it." I grin.   


"No wonder. How did you?" You squint to look at the contraption. "You know that it's really not meant for household cooling."

"I've modified it, well, the best I could. There is a reason Angelo was replacing it."

"Can you turn it down?" you ask.

"You want colder?" That seems ridiculous if you are shivering.

"Then up. Whatever won't make our flat a walk in freezer." 

I huff and walk over to window. "I thought you would appreciate not sweltering." I look at the wires, tubes and jangling motor. "That might prove to be an issue. I believe we have one setting."

You struggle to stand. "The thought is nice, but I'm turning into an icicle. A large bleeding icicle."

I freeze. Icicle.  _A large bloody icicle_. An icicle large enough to be cylind rical and sharp could pierce through a man and kill him. It would take hours to melt, depending where the murder took place. 

"Oh Lucy!" I rush to you and press a kiss to your forehead.  "My Lucy, you are bleeding brilliant!"

You stand with your mouth hanging open. 

My fingers dance across the screen of my phone. "John, where are you? Well leave and meet me at the Met. I just had a break in the Jenkins case. Call Lestrade. I'm calling Molly. I hope they haven't buried the bugger." I roll my eyes. "Yes, he was one of God's special souls who turned out to peddle drugs to children. God, if he existed, has a sense of irony."

I tear my dressing gown off and toss on your chair. 

"I don't understand," you frown.

"The case, well, he had a hole, and the icicle." My lips are in a losing battle with my mind. Too much is whirling around my brain to attempt a conversation. "I'll explain later." I grab my suit jacket. 

"What about that?" You point to the window. "It's still freezing in here."

I don't have time for this. You should be thankful I've gone through the trouble of trying to make you comfortable. 

"I, uh..."

The whirring and clanking stops. The lights flicker, then go dark. All the noises in the flat go silent. Power failure.

I smile. "See? It's off."

"Along with everything else," you grouse.

My shoulders slump. I really do not have time for this. A major piece of a puzzle has landed in my lap and forms a picture of everything I missed. 

"Go. I'll take care of it," you grumble and wave me off. 

"I was thinking of you. I'll fix all this later." I cast a glance at the smoking compressor behind me.

"You owe me Holmes," you warn.

I wink. "You can punish me later."

And I fly out the door.

*  *  *  *   *

Every cell in my body is ringing and vibrant. The humidity of the day seeps back into the flat after the limited success of the makeshift cooling device. I am keenly aware of the sounds of the street - shoes scraping against pavement, murmurs of conversation, a passing car. I take deep breaths in time to the whirring of an oscillating fan on the bureau. Every thirty seconds, a gust of cool air graces my burning back. Despite the pain, I am at peace.

The mattress groans under your considerable weight. I brace myself for what's next.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I asked for it," I mumble. "In fact, I might have begged."   


Your touch, though gentle, incites a stinging in an already hot area. I hiss as my muscles tense.

"Why didn't you say 'milk'?" You dab the cold liquid on a welt on my back.

"It felt amazing at the time," I shrug.

You were pacing when I returned home full of fire. I was keyed up from solving a case that had bothered me for weeks. We clashed in the sitting room with hands and lips. You are sensitive to my touch with the extra blood pumping through veins. As my teeth scraped the sensitive skin under your ear, I whispered, "Belt."

It's been at least over a month since our last time. If you weren't with my child, I would have insisted we take turns. You are on edge most days. Yes, you apologise and blame the raging river of hormones. A part of you wants to relinquish control for awhile. I know you miss this as much as I do. Tonight, you had the opportunity to release some of the frustration. My back and arse may bear the marks long after the baby is here. 

Your finger lightly trails a raised mark. It burns but I arch into the touch.

"I broke skin tonight," you sigh despondently.

I turn my head to look at you. "I asked you for this. You did nothing wrong."

You shake your head. "I think I just got lost in the moment."

I reach for your knee. It feels like my skin is ripping as my muscles move beneath it. I gasp.

"I am so sorry." Your eyes fill with tears.

"Lucy, it's all fine. We got carried away, but I begged you to go harder. I love that I'll feel this when I move. I'll be at a crime scene and will get an erection just remembering this night. I wasn't bonded. I could stop you at any time." I rub your thigh to reassure you. I smile. "Lucy Adams, even eight months pregnant, you are the sexiest woman I have the privilege of knowing."   


You lean forward and I move up to meet your lips. We both struggle with the movement. It's a brief kiss, but it's enough to ease your mind. You return to the task of soothing and addressing my back. I look forward to seeing it in the mirror tomorrow morning. Would you think it odd if I asked you to take a photograph?   


"We might have woken the house," you chuckle. 

"Hmm, you were rather loud," I grin. "I always enjoy when you voice your orgasms enthusiastically."

All this talk of sex is heading to my half erect penis.

"Shower is going to hurt tomorrow." You pat a deeper welt.

I chuckle. "Everything is going to hurt. And it will remind me of you."

"This will take time healing. I hope you don't scar." You bite your lip.

"My back has enough scars I didn't deserve or ask for. I'd rather you mark my back and mask the years before you." My throat catches uncharacteristically.   


Your fingers move through my hair. "You crazy man." I feel moist, warm air caress my buttocks. You went easy on them - I do need to sit at some point. Regardless, they feel a bit raw at the moment.

"It's good we'll have to abstain for a few weeks," you say.

I twist too quickly and wince at skin coming apart. "What?"

"Careful. You'll start to bleed again." 

"You said abstain. What does that mean?" I roll to my side.

"Not right now, but after the baby, I can't for six weeks." You rub the movement under your skin.

"Why?" I frown. 

"That area goes through a bit of trauma in childbirth," you laugh lightly.

I have seen multiple videos in my research of the 'miracle of birth' from episiotomies, natural tearing and cesarean section. I even witnessed a prolapsed uterus, which gave me a terrible nightmare later.

"We'll be too tired for sex those first weeks." You turn to cap the bottle of antiseptic and bin the cotton swabs.

I have seen new fathers stagger through the door of St Bart's. They resemble junkies looking for a fix but without the pleasant high. They are deprived of sleep, food and clearly intercourse. Will I look like Sherlock the Junkie with sick in my hair? Granted, it won't be mine this time. 

I hate uncertainty. Your stomach has been expanding for months. I have documented changes in your mood, vaginal mucous, and information retention. Yet, I have absolutely no way to predict what will happen after the baby comes. While I'm accustomed to little sleep, I can retreat into my mind for some peace. Will I be able to do that with a crying child? How often will nights like tonight be feasible? We stumbled into each other, hungry and desperate. We had no responsibilities to hinder our desires. Will motherhood change you? Will our bedroom activities seem extreme or unsavory? 

I rub my eyes while you wash your hands in the bathroom. I know things must change despite my strong desire for status quo. I cannot stop the anxiety of my new role and how it will affect us.

I feel your hand on my shoulder. "Where are you? It's not good since you're frowning."

"Hmm?" I turn my head.

"You're miles away. What's going on up there?" you ask.

"Shortly, everything will change. At least that is all I hear from John and Mrs. Hudson. I like this and us now." I have to choose my words carefully. We have vowed to be honest and communicate. I am not very good with the second part.

"I'm ready to have my body back," you smile weakly. My brow doesn't ease. "It will be different. And it will probably be hard at times. But I've never known you to like easy."

"I'll miss moments like this," I sigh. "We won't have the luxury of spontaneity."

"We have a built-in sitter," you nod to the door.

"You cannot mean Ford," I scoff.

"God, no. Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure John and Mary would love to sit as well. True, we won't be able to make love at the drop of your scarf." You brush the hair from my forehead. "I hope it will be good. I can't wait to see our son or daughter in those ridiculously large hands of yours."

"I've never held an infant." Will I be gentle enough? What if I hurt it?

"You will learn. We'll learn together. Think of it this way, this is something neither of us has done before. We'll muck through this on  equal footing."

You are right. Our knowledge on different topics varies with one of us tipping the scale. In parenthood, we are novices together. You might have a slight advantage with mothers instinct.

You nudge me. "You're a pretty decent boyfriend."

I groan.

"Partner, then. You're fairly good to me. Even if you do blow the electric and leave me to handle it."

"I was attempting to make you comfortable," I counter.

"I know. It was a nice if not a well thought out gesture." Your fingertips brush over my warm back. "How does it feel now?" 

"Hmm. Better. You are an excellent nurse." I press my lips to your knee. 

You graze my back gently. Straining against your belly, you lean forward to kiss my neck. Your lips are soft and warm as they trail down my neck to my shoulders. I arch up into the touch. The skin on my back is tight yet the feeling slinks down to my growing erection.

"Lucy, are you still aroused?" My hand slides up your thigh.

"I'll miss this libido." You nip my ear.

I kiss your thigh. "I will too. I'll have to find away to keep you a wanton nymphomaniac." I trace your knee with my tongue. "I wonder how your taste will change." My penis is fully erected against my stomach.

"You'll probably want to stay clear for awhile," you chuckle softly as your fingers grasp my curls tightly.

"Then I better take advantage while I can." I drag my lips to your inner thigh.

 


	15. The Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherrinford readies for a journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I have had this almost ready for over a week but didn't have time to get the photos. Thanks to Irene and Michelle for all their help :) And than you all for your patience.

Sherlock

 

Ford’s footfalls are unique to him. With his long legs, he takes stairs three at time. John might take two at time. You, when not pregnant, will bound if excited or angry. Mycroft’s steps are deliberate and meant to announce him before he appears at the door. 

I don’t look up as Ford walks into the sitting room to pause beside your chair. He glances around before striding to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of ale you purchased for him. After a long sip, he eases into the chair across from me

"When do you leave?" I ask.

 

 

He chuckles. “A few days. You sorted that out by my gait or the way I sipped my beer?”

I fold the newspaper into my lap. “The way you took the stairs and looked around to assure we were alone. Where are you headed?”

"Middle East. Syria and the like are a bit of a mess." He takes a gulp of his beer so that it’s half done.

"You’ll miss the birth of your nephew."

He smiles. “Sure about that, are you?”

"That the baby will come? Yes. The sex I can only deduce," I shrug.

He points his finger at me. “You somehow found out. Lucy will kill you, you know.”

I smirk. “She doesn’t fancy being a single mother.”

He stretches his back, “Are you ready for all this? Nappy changes at two in the morning? Vomit on your suits? It’s a big change even for an ordinary man. For you, it will be catastrophic.”

I frown. “Don’t be so dramatic. I know it’s a huge change. With you gone, we can finally convert the upstairs bedroom into a nursery.”

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Are you really sure about all this? You said it was an accident.”

 

 

The muscles stiffen in my back and neck. “It is not an accident. It was unplanned.”

"Not much difference. So what happens to the Work?" He asks.

"I’m still doing the Work," I sniff with annoyance.

"The way you want? You could take off at a moments notice. Can’t do that with a baby," Ford says.

"I am aware of that." I lean forward. "What are you driving at, Sherrinford?"

He titters. “Oh, my government name.”

"I thought you liked Lucy." I do not like where he’s going with all this.

"I love Lucy. I want the best for her." He crosses his legs. "I want what is best for both of you. It’s no secret that you attract danger and unsavory acquaintances. Having a child around that seems, well,  irresponsible."

"There are plenty of people surrounding this child that will ensure its safety. I would never let harm come to either of them." My voice drops to a hiss.

"You think that’s possible. You’ve just brought an innocent target into the world. Holmes’ have few allies and many enemies. It’s how we operate. A family trait if you will," he shrugs.

 

"Their death was an accident." I snip. 

 

"Did Mycroft let you believe that?" Ford shakes his head.

 

I grit my teeth. “Get to the point, Ford.”

  
A slow grin spreads on his face. “Come with me. It’ll be like old times.”

  
"You’ve lost your mind. Just abandon Lucy, and my child?" I growl. 

  
"They’ll be safer without you. There’s an East wind coming, Sherlock. I can feel it. My new assignment is just the beginning." His face drops any hint of bravado.

  
"What aren’t you telling me?" Ford never shows fear, but something is lurking behind his eyes.

  
He opens his mouth to speak when his phone moans. The hair on the back of my neck bristles. The corner of his mouth twitches into a grin as he reads the text.

  
"What does she want?" I steeple my fingers under my chin.

  
"How did you know?" He glances at the phone. "Oh, that’s right. You’ve had correspondence."

  
"Not since she was incarcerated."

  
He nods slowly. “Yes, I heard about that. Well, what she told me about it.”

  
I frown. “You have seen her?”

  
He shrugs. “I looked up some old friends. And I wanted to know what she’d done to my little brother. She suggested that I look through some tabloids to find out what you’d been up to.” He smirks. “Made me love Lucy more.”

 

I choose to ignore that comment, knowing it indicates he’s seen the photos and knows what you are capable of. 

"Does she know we’re related?" My mind flashes tiny details of my conversations with Irene. Was there a flicker of recognition, even in our first meeting?

"Yes. I’m sure she’s always known. Perhaps that fed into her fascination with you. You were always prettier. And you were unattainable. She wanted a comparison, I suppose. See if you’d be gentler than I was."

My stomach turns. It makes sense now. Her unique interest in me. The fact she was obsessed with the idea of having intercourse with me. 

"Lucy’s not here. Tell me brother to brother - did you never touch her?" He leans closer.

"It would have been too easy. It was about power for her. She wanted to strip me of everything. She would used it against me." I roll my shoulder.

He laughs. “She did that anyway.”

"She exposed my life with another woman she felt was unworthy. As the pictures prove, Lucy is very much up to the task." My back is still healing from a few nights ago.

"So I’ve heard. And eight months pregnant. I bet she was quite fierce before." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Comes as quite a surprise. She looks fairly ordinary."

It’s my turn to smirk. “Would I ever waste my time with someone ordinary?”

His face moves through amused to melancholy. “No you wouldn’t. I’m shocked to find you tethered at all.”

I sigh heavily. “Not tethered.”

He holds up his hands. “Fine. Bonded. Coupled.” His eyes comb over me. “You won’t come?”

I lean closer to search the lines around his eyes. “What is happening, Ford? It’s been years since I thought of the East wind. You’re not telling me something.”

He scrubs a hand through his wiry curls. “I don’t know much.” The creaking of the stairs causes him to freeze.

"Mycroft," we say in unison.

"How delightful - a family meeting." Mycroft pauses at the door.

Ford leans back. “You weren’t invited.”

Mycroft looks to me. “Sherlock?”

With a roll of my eyes, I stand. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

"Thank you, brother mine." Mycroft’s voice betrays tenderness. 

I watch them glare at one another from our chairs. My earliest memories are watching them bicker and being caught in the middle. They argued over my studies, my acquaintances, my clothes, hair, experiments. Ford is always pushing me further; offering excitement and danger by his side. Mycroft fashions himself as my keeper. He has been there at my lowest. He has pulled me from the clutches of death and offered shelter regardless of my want for it.

Currently, they bicker over Ford’s offer. Of course Mycroft knows with just a glance.

It’s a rare thing to hear Mycroft raise his voice. He accuses Ford of being selfish and is glad to be rid of him. In a harsh whisper, he berates Ford for being the one to bring any danger to my house. I hear names that I file for later inspection. Irene’s is among them. While Mycroft dresses him down, Ford leans back wearing bored expression. I imagine this is exactly what I resemble during one of Mycroft’s chats. Deep down, I know Mycroft has our best interest at heart. While Ford does not intend it cruelly, he serves his own agenda to a fault.

I don’t entertain Ford’s offer in the slightest. While certainly exciting, it is a certain suicide mission. Why would he want me to abandon you for that?

 

 

"Christ, Myc," Ford groans. "Do you have a recording in there you just press repeat?"

I set down a tray of tea. “I find you both tedious. ‘No, I love Sherlock best’ ‘no, I love him more’. Lucy has you both beat.”

Ford winks. “And you. I’ve seen the marks.”

"Oh, you heard about that?" A voice floats in from the doorway.

With all the snipping, I did not hear you on the staircase. Quite a feat these days.

Ford breaks into an affectionate smile. “You were rather spirited. I’m delighted for my baby brother.”

 

 

"Shut up," I snap as I cross to you and press a kiss more passionate than I intend to your lips. I’m sure both brothers have noted the stiffness in my movements. However, all this talk has my skin tingling to touch you.

"Down, boy." You pinch my arse with a twinkle in your eye. "Both of you? What’s the occasion?"

Mycroft is the first to offer you a seat. 

"Thank you," you pat his arm.

He gleefully tosses a smug glance to Ford who only crosses his legs.

"Sherrinford is leaving us soon." Mycroft announces with unbridled joy. 

You frown. “So soon? Why?”

"A new assignment beckons, love."

"When?" 

"In a few days, I’m afraid." Sadness draws the corners of his mouth down.

You touch your bloated belly. “You’ll miss meeting your niece or nephew.”

Tenderly, he lays his hand on yours. “There’s always induction.”

You chuckle lightly. “Uh, no. We’ll send photos.”

"Fair play," he nods.

"Where are you heading?" She asks.

"East. Not sure where exactly. I’ll have a new identity waiting for me." His eyes tighten.

"Will you be able to communicate?" You purse your lips nervously.

"As much as it pains me, I will have rely on Mycroft’s help in that matter." He sends a glare to the chesterfield.

Mycroft sighs. “Since it your wish Lucy, I will keep a line of communication open.”

It is truly a wonder to see how you’ve wrapped all the Holmes men around your swollen finger.


	16. ***Update***

I just wanted to thank everyone for their patience. I decided to write what I thought would be a quick Christmas Johnlock. It was a silly thought to have during the holidays. I'm working on the last chapter of that - and then I'll start working on the next chapter of this soon. I wanted to let everyone know it was not abandoned and still a priority. I have big plans. :)

Thanks for reading!


	17. Nesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Lucy prepare the nursery and have some girl talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it has taken me so long to get to Lucy and Sherlock. I got caught up in a Christmas fic and then stated a new John/Sherlock story. I have not abandoned them or their unborn child. So, thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you to darlingben for editing skills, and Irene for her support.

**Lucy**

 

"I am so glad to be rid of these drapes." Mary sneezes as she rolls up the dark blue drapes to toss in a trash bag.  
  
"Only men would switch rooms and leave it the same." I pull out the instructions for the cot.   
  
"They don't care. I'm guessing you chose the paint." She looks at the newly painted sea foam green walls.  
  
"He thought yellow was a bit too bright. This green is gender neutral."   
  
"I like it. You can add some different colours to make it more feminine if it's a girl." Mary ties up the bag.  
  
"Sherlock is convinced I'm going to paint it pink if its a girl. Clearly he forgot who I am." I roll my eyes. You say we have plenty of time for the nursery, but I know we won't after the baby comes.  
  


  


 

"What do you think it is?"  
  
I shrug. "Sherlock has me doing all those wives tales tests. He has a spreadsheet."   
  
Mary shakes her head and laughs. "Of course he does. Despite his Sherlockness, he is very doting."   
  
"Who would have thought?" I chuckle.  
  
I had done a sweep of the room before the painters came. Most of our playthings had been removed when Ford came to stay. After Ford left, I went through the room again. I found bottle of beer stuffed with cigarette butts. Between the mattress, he had shoved a number of pornographic magazines.    
  
"What's that?" Mary motions to the four holes in the ceiling.   
  
I swallow a laugh as I remember you flat on your back entangled in the mesh and straps of the swing.  
  
"Must have happened when John and he lived here." I shrug nonchalantly.    
  
Mary looks around the room. "You know, I don't think I've ever been up here."  
  
"This was John's, right?"   
  
"That was when Sherlock was al- well, before the incident." She purses her lips. "That's how John refers to it. He gets angry when I say 'fall' or 'when he was dead' since he was never technically dead."  
  
"It still bothers him?" It's been a few years since you faked your death. I guess I can understand why John is still angry. If you ever left me like that, you better hope someone kills you before I do.  
  
Mary's eyes are sad. "He was so lost when I met him. Just a shell of a person. To be honest, I thought Sherlock was his lover, with the level of mourning he did."  
  
"A lot of people have thought that." I nod.  
  
Mary smiles. "They are unusually close, or they were. John and his sister have a very difficult relationship. Sherlock was home to him. I still think he's more comfortable here than anywhere on earth. It's hard to understand. Or it was when Sherlock came back."    
  
"He never talks about his time away or returning. But I've seen the scars." Often I run my finger along the silvery thin scars or the dark pink larger ones. I kiss your back; thankful you survived.  

"It was for a good cause, John knows. But he was a husk of a person. The flat was musty and dank when I came over, like a tomb. He had moved downstairs, but everything had been left as is. The books, papers and experiment equipment," Mary says.    
  
"Why did he move to Sherlock's room?"   
  
"He felt uneasy on the top level - being so far from Mrs. Hudson with all the tension and uncertainty then. And it was different. He never talks about it. If you want to see John close off and clam up, talk about the time during the incident." Mary perches on the mattress.  
  
"Why didn't he move?" I put away some clothes that Mycroft sent over in the dresser. They are as you requested, gender neutral. Leave it to Mycroft to find a onsie with the periodic table on them.

  
"When the trouble with Moriarty started, they agreed to take care of Mrs. Hudson. After Sherlock was gone, John couldn't leave her."    
  
That sounds like John I know.  
  
"What happened when he returned?" I ask.  
  
Mary chuckles lightly. "We came back here after dinner. I was going to spend the night. There his nibs was, sitting in his bloody chair as if he had a right." She shakes her head. "Look closely at the carpet downstairs, right by Sherlock's chair. That's his blood from that night."  
  
I can only imagine John pulling you from your chair and giving you a well deserved pounding.  
  
"How did it go after that?"  
  
Mary shifts and curls a leg under her. "I suggested John stay with me. But hee wouldn't give Sherlock his home back. He made him stay with Mycroft while they worked through things - like a married couple."   
  
I laugh picturing you both in counselling.  
  
She sighs. "But Sherlock is a charming bastard in his own bizarre way. John went out on cases with him. They ate dinner downstairs. Eventually Sherlock moved back in. The terms were that he move upstairs. Oh, Sherlock fought that. It was the one argument John won." She grins. "No, the first. You were kind of the second."  

 ** _  
_**"Me?" I frown. I know John is the reason I'm here today. He has told me I was the best candidate; and that he saw potential. I doubt he envisioned this.  
  
"When we told Sherlock we were getting married, he groused. It wasn't about him, and he felt left out. He knew things would change. I mean, they had. John has to balance work, Sherlock and me. Before, Sherlock was always first. But when John told him he was moving in with me, he didn't take it well."  
  
"He doesn't handle change well." I touch my belly as the baby tosses out what feels like a foot.  
  
"John felt he needed a new flatmate."  
  
"He can afford this place himself. He doesn't need one," I say. 

  
"Can you imagine him on his own? John knew he needed someone." She cocks her head. "Well, not just someone. The right person who could handle Sherlock."  
  
"So he was looking for a handler? Like a charmer?"'I quirk an eyebrow.    
  
"John was excited to meet you. Came home and said he has a feeling about you. Sherlock wasn't convinced. He didn't want a female flatmate. Didn't want the drama," Mary clucks. "Yet, he fell quicker than you realise. He was oddly concerned about your dates. He told John all about them. That's when John knew."    
  
"I never thought I'd still be here, let alone decorating a nursery." I look around your old room. It's not that long ago I brought you up here to surrender to me. "I found him rifling through my suitcase on the second day I was here. Thought I made a terrible mistake and nearly moved out. I cannot believe how much I love the bastard." 

"Amazing how that happens. I know I never expected Sherlock to have a child or fall in love." Mary wanders over to the pile of cot parts on the floor. "This looks complicated."  
  
"The directions are in German, I think." I flip the paper over in search for some English.  
  
"Does Sherlock speak German?" Mary asks.  
  
"Maybe? He speaks Farsi so nothing would shock me."   
  
Mary looks around the room. "So much stuff for a baby. How do you know?"  
  
She sounds genuinely concerned. "Mary?"  
  
She turns to me, eyes brimming with tears. How insensitive of me. I know they have been struggling to get pregnant.  
  
"I'm due in spring!" She blurts out.

  


 

  
  
"Oh! Oh Mary!" I rush over to hug her. "I am so happy for you!"   
  
"Thank you. We have been waiting to tell people. You're the first person I've told aside from John."  
  
I rub my stomach. "He or she will have a playmate."  
  
"Or co-conspirator." Mary laughs.    
  
"This is the best news." I wince.  
  
"Cramps?" Mary asks.  
  
"On and off all day. I think I ate something that didn't agree with us. They are getting a bit stronger," I say.  
  
She raises her eyebrows. "You think just indigestion?"  
  
"I'm more than three weeks away,"I dismiss.   
  
"You probably shouldn't be running around with this." She motions to the pieces of the cot and curtains.   
  
"Maybe not. They both kept me up last night." Between the little one kicking and your amorous appetite, I had only four hours of sleep.  
  
"Let's get you something to drink and have a rest," Mary suggests.  
  
"I'd kill for a proper drink," I mutter.  
  
"Soon," she reassures me.  
  
By the time we get to the sofa, my discomfort has increased ten fold. I'm sweating like a pig and panting like a dog.  
  
"Lucy, this is not indigestion. We should get you to the hospital," Mary says.  
  
"It's too early." I'm not ready for this, to be a mum.   
  
"We should have you checked out at least," Mary softly suggests. "To be sure."  
  
Reluctantly, I nod. Thanks to your research, I know all the things that can go wrong in the last month of pregnancy.    
  
"Let me call Sherlock."   
  
Your phone rings a few times.  
  
"You've reached the voicemail of Sherlock Holmes. Briefly state your case and phone number. If appropriate, someone will be in touch."  
  
"Do you know where he is?" Mary asks.  
  
I shake my head. "Said he was going to the Met."  
  
Mary pulls out her phone. She frowns. "John's not answering either. He didn't mention meeting up with Sherlock. John, it's Mary. Call me when you get this. I'm with Lucy and we're going to the hospital. She's having some pain."  
  
I call you back. Four rings and it goes to voicemail. "Sherlock, Mary is taking me to the hospital because I'm having some cramps. I don't think it's contractions and my mucus plug is still intact. Call me when you get this. I'll keep you updated."  
  


"That was very detailed," Mary muses.  
  
"It's Sherlock. You have to be overly descriptive," I say.  

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

I am immediately brought to a bed and hooked up to a monitoring belt. Mary and I watch the baby's heartbeat on a screen behind my head. Meanwhile, a nurse asks me a slew of questions.  
  
 _Have you been pregnant before?  
Is this your first baby?  
_ _How much do you smoke?_ Nice try.  
 _Do you feel your home environment is safe?_  
  
Mary and I hide a giggle at that one.   
  
All the while, I send you texts and leave more voicemails. I have to admit that I am starting to feel anxious over a number of developments.  
  
Mary jumps when her mobile rings. "John! Did you listen to your messages?" Pause. "Well we're at the hospital. Yes, she's being monitored now. Doctor hasn't come yet." Pause. "So he's not with you? Have you talked to him today?" Pause. "Yes, several. Can you leave right now?" Mary nods. "Yes, call Mycroft and Greg please."  
  
Nurse looks up as my heart rate accelerates.  
  
Mary pats my arm. "I'm sure he's fine."  
  
"The father?" asks the nurse.

"Yes, he's working." I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. 

I'm in a room without windows and three empty beds. Mary tells me that this is where they do stress tests to see how the baby is. It's perfectly normal, yet I'm nervous. I have no idea where you are or what you're doing. I think back to all of John's stories of the earlier cases. You could be swimming in the Thames or gagged and bound in a warehouse while I give birth to our baby.

"Mycroft will find him," Mary soothes.

The machine beside me buzzes.

"Are you cramping?" The nurse asks.

"Feels like my stomach is tightening." I wince.  
  
"Contraction. You've been having them since you came in. They are getting a bit more frequent and regular. It's all normal." She smiles.

"It is early, by three weeks..." 

"The baby is considered full term. It will be fine." She pats my arm. "The doctor will come in to see how dilated you are."

"This is going to happen today, isn't it?" I ask.

"Maybe not. People have false labour all the time." She's using her nurse voice.

I look at my phone's dwindling battery. "I forgot to bring my charger."

"I'll ask John to bring one." Mary's fingers dance across her phone.

Where are you? Are you in trouble? It's not like you to ignore calls. Both Mycroft and John are trying to find you, it’s all very unsettling.

"Good afternoon," a male voice chirps. 

A familiar pair of blue eyes peer around the corner. 

"You!" I gasp.

  


 

Eyebrows draw up. "Me?" Then recognition flickers in his eyes. "Lucy, right?"

"I didn't realise you still practiced, Dr. Thomas." I hope for the good doctor's sake that he is off duty when you get here.

"Yes." He cradles my chart. "I left my practice. I teach and work here now."

"Are you the only one on tonight?" I cover up my legs with the scratchy sheet.

He flashes that blinding smile that I'm sure worked wonders on lonely mothers.  
"I am the resident in charge. I'm the best on the staff. Six months is a very long time." He looks to the floor. "Lucy, someone needs to examine you. Do I need to call someone in?"

He seems contrite. Maybe hearing his sins being recited to him was enough to make Dr. Thomas change. I feel a build up of pain, starting at a two and escalating quickly to a six.  

"No, I don't think this baby cares about your kink." I grunt.

"This is the doctor?" Mary asks.

"And you are?" he asks.

Mary inches closer. "Close friend of the parents."

Dr. Thomas rolls his eyes. "May I examine you?"

I nod as the pain makes it hard to speak.

"Okay, lie back and bring feet up to your hips. Keep them flat on the bed."   
His smooth voice is soothing. Where yours is like dark chocolate, his more like milk. Mary watches him carefully as he pulls on gloves. 

"Lucy, I'm going to insert my fingers to check your cervix, okay?" He's being very cautious. 

I nod as sweat collects on my brow.

He peers around my legs. "Your cervix is still breathtaking."

"Doctor!" I scold.

"Sorry. I hoped it would take your mind off of this," he murmurs.

His fingers push deeper than I have ever felt. I'm unprepared for the pain. If childbirth is worse, I won't make it. I've been shot and this is a hundred times worse.

"Oh God," I pant.

"Are you okay?" Mary takes my hand.

There is no way this could ever be considered foreplay.

Mercifully, he extracts his fingers. "Sorry. That is the worst part."

"Is it too soon for epidural?" I groan.

"I'll speak to the nurse." Dr. Thomas bins his gloves. I swear he brings his fingers to his nose before he does. "Your chart says you are 36 weeks and six days, but you are fully effaced and at least three fingers dilated."

"What does that mean?" I ask.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles. It's too bad he's creepy since he is quite handsome.

"You'll meet your baby soon. I'll speak to the nurse about an epidural. I'd like to hold off a bit as it can slow labour down. You're progressing well, I want to continue that.We are moving into a labour room," Dr. Thomas says.

I nod and glance at my phone. It has 4% battery left. 

He pats my arm. "You'll be fine. It will take a few minutes to get you moved. Is there anything you need?"

"The father," I mutter. "Some ginger ale?"

  


 

He nods. "I'll send the nurse down." With a wink, he's gone.

Mary fans herself. "He is good looking."

"And has the hots for pregnant women." I curl onto my side.

"Too bad he closed his practice," Mary titters.

I laugh. "You're terrible."

"And you have a beautiful cervix," she teases.

For a few minutes, I can tamp down the panic bubbling inside.

Where are you, Sherlock? 


End file.
